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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Pat Castevans <patcat@ctnet.net> +and David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +SANDRA BELLONI + +By George Meredith + + + +BOOK 3 + +XVIII. RETURN OF THE SENTIMENTALIST INTO BONDAGE +XIX. LIFE AT BROOKFIELD. +XX. BY WILMING WEIR +XXI. RETURN OF MR. PERICLES +XXII. THE PITFALL OF SENTIMENT +XXIII. WILFRID DIPLOMATIZES +XXIV. EMILIA MAKES A MOVE +XXV. A FARCE WITHIN A FARCE + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Meantime Wilfrid was leading a town-life and occasionally visiting +Stornley. He was certainly not in love with Lady Charlotte +Chillingworth, but he was in harness to that lady. In love we have some +idea whither we would go: in harness we are simply driven, and the +destination may be anywhere. To be reduced to this condition (which will +happen now and then in the case of very young men who are growing up to +something, and is, if a momentary shame to them, rather a sign of promise +than not) the gentle male need not be deeply fascinated. Lady Charlotte +was not a fascinating person. She did not lay herself out to attract. +Had she done so, she would have failed to catch Wilfrid, whose soul +thirsted for poetical refinement and filmy delicacies in a woman. What +she had, and what he knew that he wanted, and could only at intervals +assume by acting as if he possessed it, was a victorious aplomb, which +gave her a sort of gallant glory in his sight. He could act it well +before his sisters, and here and there a damsel; and coming fresh from +Lady Charlotte's school, he had recently done so with success, and had +seen the ladies feel toward him, as he felt under his instructress in the +art. Some nature, however, is required for every piece of art. Wilfrid +knew that he had been brutal in his representation of the part, and the +retrospect of his conduct at Brookfield did not satisfy his remorseless +critical judgement. In consequence, when he again saw Lady Charlotte, +his admiration of that one prized characteristic of hers paralyzed him. +She looked, and moved, and spoke, as if the earth were her own. She was +a note of true music, and he felt himself to be an indecisive chord; +capable ultimately of a splendid performance, it might be, but at present +crying out to be played upon. This is the condition of a man in harness, +whom witlings may call what they will. He is subjugated: not won. In +this state of subjugation he will joyfully sacrifice as much as a man in +love. For, having no consolatory sense of happiness, such as encircles +and makes a nest for lovers, he seeks to attain some stature, at least, +by excesses of apparent devotion. Lady Charlotte believed herself +beloved at last. She was about to strike thirty; and Rumour, stalking +with a turban of cloud on her head,--enough that this shocking old +celestial dowager, from condemnation had passed to pity of the dashing +lady. Beloved at last! After a while there is no question of our +loving; but we thirst for love, if we have not had it. The key of Lady +Charlotte will come in the course of events. She was at the doubtful +hour of her life, a warm-hearted woman, known to be so by few, generally +consigned by devout-visaged Scandal (for who save the devout will dare to +sit in the chair of judgement?) as a hopeless rebel against conventional +laws; and worse than that, far worse,--though what, is not said. + +At Stornley the following letter from Emilia hit its mark:-- + +Dear Mr. Wilfrid, + +"It is time for me to see you. Come when you have read this letter. I +cannot tell you how I am, because my heart feels beating in another body. +Pray come; come now. Come on a swift horse. The thought of you +galloping to me goes through me like a flame that hums. You will come, I +know. It is time. If I write foolishly, do forgive me. I can only make +sure of the spelling, and I cannot please you on paper, only when I see +you." + +The signature of 'Emilia Alessandra Belloni' was given with her wonted +proud flourish. + +Wilfrid stared at the writing. "What! all this time she has been +thinking the same thing!" Her constancy did not swim before him in +alluring colours. He regarded it as a species of folly. Disgust had +left him. The pool of Memory would have had to be stirred to remind him +of the pipe-smoke in her hair. "You are sure to please me when you see +me?" he murmured. "You are very confident, young lady!" So much had her +charm faded. And then he thought kindly of her, and that a meeting would +not be good for her, and that she ought to go to Italy and follow her +profession. "If she grows famous," whispered coxcombry, "why then +oneself will take a little of the praises given to her." And that seemed +eminently satisfactory. Men think in this way when you have loved them, +ladies. All men? No; only the coxcombs; but it is to these that you +give your fresh affection. They are, as it were, the band of the +regiment of adorers, marching ahead, while we sober working soldiers +follow to their music. "If she grows famous, why then I can bear in mind +that her heart was once in my possession: and it may return to its old +owner, perchance." Wilfrid indulged in a pleasant little dream of her +singing at the Opera-house, and he, tied to a ferocious, detested wife, +how softly and luxuriously would he then be sighing for the old time! It +was partly good seed in his nature, and an apprehension of her force of +soul, that kept him from a thought of evil to her. Passion does not +inspire dark appetite. Dainty innocence does, I am told. Things are +tested by the emotions they provoke. Wilfrid knew that there was no +trifling with Emilia, so he put the letter by, commenting thus "she's +right, she doesn't spell badly." Behind, which, to those who have caught +the springs of his character, volumes may be seen. + +He put the letter by. Two days later, at noon, the card of Captain +Gambier was brought to him in the billiard-room,--on it was written: +"Miss Belloni waits on horseback to see you." Wilfrid thought "Waits!" +and the impossibility of escape gave him a notion of her power. + +"So, you are letting that go on," said Lady Charlotte, when she heard +that Emilia and the captain were in company. + +"There is no fear for her whatever." + +"There is always fear when a man gives every minute of his time to that +kind of business," retorted her ladyship. + +Wilfrid smiled the smile of the knowing. Rivalry with Gambier (and +successful too!) did not make Emilia's admiration so tasteless. Some one +cries out: "But, what a weak creature is this young man!" I reply, he +was at a critical stage of his career. All of us are weak in the period +of growth, and are of small worth before the hour of trial. This fellow +had been fattening all his life on prosperity; the very best dish in the +world; but it does not prove us. It fattens and strengthens us, just as +the sun does. Adversity is the inspector of our constitutions; she +simply tries our muscle and powers of endurance, and should be a +periodical visitor. But, until she comes, no man is known. Wilfrid was +not absolutely engaged to Lady Charlotte (she had taken care of that), +and being free, and feeling his heart beat in more lively fashion, he +turned almost delightedly to the girl he could not escape from. As when +the wriggling eel that has been prodded by the countryman's fork, finds +that no amount of wriggling will release it, to it twists in a knot +around the imprisoning prong. This simile says more than I mean it to +say, but those who understand similes will know the measure due to them. + +There sat Emilia on her horse. "Has Gambier been giving her lessons?" +thought Wilfrid. She sat up, well-balanced; and, as he approached, began +to lean gently forward to him. A greeting 'equal to any lady's,' there +was no doubt. This was the point Emilia had to attain, in his severe +contemplation. A born lady, on her assured level, stood a chance of +becoming a Goddess; but ladyship was Emilia's highest mark. Such is the +state of things to the sentimental fancy when girls are at a +disadvantage. She smiled, and held out both hands. He gave her one, +nodding kindly, but was too confused to be the light-hearted cavalier. +Lady Charlotte walked up to her horse's side, after receiving Captain +Gambier's salute, and said: "Come, catch hold of my hands and jump." + +"No," replied Emilia; "I only came to see him." + +"But you will see him, and me in the bargain, if you stay." + +"I fancy she has given her word to return early," interposed Wilfrid. + +"Then we'll ride back with her," said Lady Charlotte. "Give me five +minutes. I'll order a horse out for you." + +She smiled, and considerately removed the captain, by despatching him to +the stables. + +A quivering dimple of tenderness hung for a moment in Emilia's cheeks, as +she looked upon Wilfrid. Then she said falteringly, "I think they wish +to be as we do." + +"Alone?" cried Wilfrid. + +"Yes; that is why I brought him over. He will come anywhere with me." + +"You must be mistaken." + +"No; I know it." + +"Did he tell you so?" + +"No; Mr. Powys did." + +"Told you that Lady Charlotte--" + +"Yes. Not, is; but, was. And he used that word...there is no word like +it,...he said 'her lover'--Oh! mine!" Emilia lifted her arms. Her voice +from its deepest fall had risen to a cry. + +Wilfrid caught her as she slipped from her saddle. His heart was in a +tumult; stirred both ways: stirred with wrath and with love. He clasped +her tightly. + +"Am I?--am I?" he breathed. + +"My lover!" Emilia murmured. + +He was her slave again. + +For, here was something absolutely his own. His own from the roots; from +the first growth of sensation. Something with the bloom on it: to which +no other finger could point and say: "There is my mark." + +(And, ladies, if you will consent to be likened to a fruit, you must bear +with these observations, and really deserve the stigma. If you will +smile on men, because they adore you as vegetable products, take what +ensues.) + +Lady Charlotte did no more than double the time she had asked for. The +party were soon at a quiet canter up the lanes; but entering a broad +furzy common with bramble-plots and oak-shaws, the Amazon flew ahead. +Emilia's eyes were so taken with her, that she failed to observe a tiny +red-flowing runlet in the clay, with yellow-ridged banks almost baked to +brick. Over it she was borne, but at the expense of a shaking that +caused her to rely on her hold of the reins, ignorant of the notions of a +horse outstripped. Wilfrid looked to see that the jump had been +accomplished, and was satisfied. Gambier was pressing his hack to keep a +respectable second. + +Lady Charlotte spun round suddenly, crying, "Catch the mare!" and +galloped back to Emilia, who was deposited on a bush of bramble. +Dismounting promptly, the lady said: "My child, you're not hurt?" + +"Not a bit." Emilia blinked. + +"Not frightened?" + +"Not a bit," was half whispered. + +"That's brave. Now jump on your feet. Tell me why you rode over to us +this morning. Quick. Don't hesitate." + +"Because I want Wilfrid to see his sister Cornelia," came the answer, +with the required absence of indecision. + +Emilia ran straightway to meet Wilfrid approaching; and as both her +hands, according to her fashion, were stretched out to him to assure him +of her safety and take his clasp, forgetful of the instincts derived from +riding-habits, her feet became entangled; she trod herself down, falling +plump forward and looking foolish--perhaps for the first time in her life +plainly feeling so. + +"Up! little woman," said Lady Charlotte, supporting her elbow. + +"Now, Sir Wilfrid, we part here; and don't spoil her courage, now she has +had a spill, by any 'assiduous attentions' and precautions. She's sure +to take as many as are needed. If Captain Gambler thinks I require an +escort, he may offer." + +The captain, taken by surprise, bowed, and flowed in ardent commonplace. +Wilfrid did not look of a wholesome colour. + +"Do you return?" he stammered; not without a certain aspect of righteous +reproach. + +"Yes. You will ride over to us again, probably, in a day or two? +Captain Gambler will see me safe from the savage admirers that crowd this +country, if I interpreted him rightly." + +Emilia was lifted to her seat. Lady Charlotte sprang unassisted to hers. +"Ta-ta!" she waved her fingers from her lips. The pairs then separated; +one couple turning into green lanes, the other dipping to blue hills. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Gossip of course was excited on the subject of the choice of a partner +made by the member for the county. Cornelia placed her sisters in one of +their most pleasing of difficulties. She had not as yet pledged her +word. It was supposed that she considered it due to herself to withhold +her word for a term. The rumour in the family was, that Sir Twickenham +appreciated her hesitation, and desired that he might be intimately known +before he was finally accepted. When the Tinleys called, they heard that +Cornelia's acceptance of the baronet was doubtful. The Copleys, on the +other hand, distinctly understood that she had decided in his favour. +Owing to the amiable dissension between the Copleys and the Tinleys, each +party called again; giving the ladies of Brookfield further opportunity +for studying one of the levels from which they had risen. Arabella did +almost all the fencing with Laura Tinley, contemptuously as a youth of +station returned from college will turn and foil an ill-conditioned +villager, whom formerly he has encountered on the green. + +"Had they often met, previous to the...the proposal?" inquired Laura; and +laughed: "I was going to say 'popping.'" + +"Pray do not check yourself, if a phrase appears to suit you," returned +Arabella. + +"But it was in the neighbourhood, was it not?" + +"They have met in the neighbourhood." + +"At Richford?" + +"Also at Richford." + +"We thought it was sudden, dear; that's all." + +"Why should it not be?" + +"Perhaps the best things are, it is true." + +"You congratulate us upon a benefit?" + +"He is to be congratulated seriously. Naturally. When she decides, let +me know early, I do entreat you, because...well, I am of a different +opinion from some people, who talk of another attachment, or engagement, +and I do not believe in it, and have said so." + +Rising to depart, Laura Tinley resumed: "Most singular! You are aware, +of course, that poor creature, our organist--I ought to say yours--who +looked (it was Mr. Sumner I heard say it--such a good thing!)" as if he +had been a gentleman in another world, and was the ghost of one in this:" +really one of the cleverest things! but he is clever!--Barrett's his +name: Barrett and some: musical name before it, like Handel. I mean one +that we are used to. Well, the man has totally and unexpectedly thrown +up his situation." + +"His appointment," said Arabella. Permitting no surprise to be visible, +she paused: "Yes. I don't think we shall give our consent to her filling +the post." + +Laura let it be seen that her adversary was here a sentence too quick for +her. + +"Ah! you mean your little Miss Belloni?" + +"Was it not of her you were thinking?" + +"When?" asked Laura, shamefully bewildered. + +"When you alluded to Mr. Barrett's vacant place." + +"Not at the moment." + +"I thought you must be pointing to her advancement." + +"I confess it was not in my mind." + +"In what consisted the singularity, then?" + +"The singularity?" + +"You prefaced your remarks with the exclamation, 'Singular!'" + +Laura showed that Arabella had passed her guard. She hastened to +compliment her on her kindness to Emilia, and so sheathed her weapon for +the time, having just enjoyed a casual inspection of Mrs. Chump entering +the room, and heard the brogue an instant. + +"Irish!" she whispered, smiling, with a sort of astonished discernment of +the nationality, and swept through the doorway: thus conveying forcibly +to Arabella her knowledge of what the ladies of Brookfield were enduring: +a fine Parthian shot. + +That Cornelia should hold a notable county man, a baronet and owner of +great acres, in a state between acceptance and rejection, was considered +high policy by the ladies, whom the idea of it elevated; and they +encouraged her to pursue this course, without having a suspicion, shrewd +as they were, that it was followed for any other object than the honour +of the family. But Mr. Pole was in the utmost perplexity, and spoke of +baronets as things almost holy, to be kneeled to, prayed for. He was +profane. "I thought, papa," said Cornelia, "that women conferred the +favour when they gave their hands!" + +It was a new light to the plain merchant. "How should you say if a +Prince came and asked for you?" + +"Still that he asked a favour at my hands." + +"Oh!" went Mr. Pole, in the voice of a man whose reason is outraged. The +placidity of Cornelia's reply was not without its effect on him, +nevertheless. He had always thought his girls extraordinary girls, and +born to be distinguished. "Perhaps she has a lord in view," he +concluded: it being his constant delusion to suppose that high towering +female sense has always a practical aim at a material thing. He was no +judge of the sex in its youth. "Just speak to her," he said to Wilfrid. + +Wilfrid had heard from Emilia that there was a tragic background to this +outward placidity; tears on the pillow at night and long vigils. Emilia +had surprised her weeping, and though she obtained no confidences, the +soft mood was so strong in the stately lady, that she consented to weep +on while Emilia clasped her. Petitioning on her behalf to Wilfrid for +aid, Emilia had told him the scene; and he, with a man's stupidity, +alluded to it, not thinking what his knowledge of it revealed to a woman. + +"Why do you vacillate, and keep us all in the dark as to what you mean?" +he began. + +"I am not prepared," said Cornelia; the voice of humility issuing from a +monument. + +"One of your oracular phrases! Are you prepared to be straightforward in +your dealings?" + +"I am prepared for any sacrifice, Wilfrid." + +"The marrying of a man in his position is a sacrifice!" + +"I cannot leave papa." + +"And why not?" + +"He is ill. He does not speak of it, but he is ill. His actions are +strange. They are unaccountable." + +"He has an old friend to reside in his house?" + +"It is not that. I have noticed him. His mind...he requires watching." + +"And how long is it since you made this discovery?" + +"One sees clearer perhaps when one is not quite happy." + +"Not happy! Then it's for him that you turn the night to tears?" + +Cornelia closed her lips. She divined that her betrayer must be close in +his confidence. She went shortly after to Emilia, whose secret at once +stood out bare to a kindled suspicion. There was no fear that Cornelia +would put her finger on it accusingly, or speak of it directly. She had +the sentimentalist's profound respect for the name and notion of love. +She addressed Emilia vaguely, bidding her keep guard on her emotions, and +telling her there was one test of the truth of masculine protestations; +this, Will he marry you? The which, if you are poor, is a passably +infallible test. Emilia sucked this in thoughtfully. She heard that +lovers were false. Why, then of course they were not like her lover! +Cornelia finished what she deemed her duty, and departed, while Emilia +thought: "I wonder whether he could be false to me;" and she gave herself +shrewd half-delicious jarrings of pain, forcing herself to contemplate +the impossible thing. + +She was in this state when Mrs. Chump came across her, and with a slight +pressure of a sovereign into her hand, said: "There, it's for you, little +Belloni! and I see ye've been thinkin' me one o' the scrape-hards and +close-fists. It's Pole who keeps me low, on purpose. And I'm a wretch +if I haven't my purse full, so you see I'm all in the dark in the house, +and don't know half so much as the sluts o' the kitchen. So, ye'll tell +me, little Belloni, is Arr'bella goin' to marry Mr. Annybody? And is +Cornelia goin' to marry Sir Tickleham? And whether Mr. Wilfrud's goin' +to marry Lady Charlotte Chill'nworth? Becas, my dear, there's Arr'bella, +who's sharp, she is, as a North-easter in January, (which Chump 'd cry +out for, for the sake of his ships, poor fella--he kneelin' by 's bedside +in a long nightgown and lookin' just twice what he was!) she has me like +a nail to my vary words, and shows me that nothin' can happen betas o' +what I've said. And Cornelia--if ye'll fancy a tall codfish on its tail: +'Mrs. Chump, I beg ye'll not go to believe annything of me.' So I says +to her, 'Cornelia! my dear! do ye think, now, it's true that Chump went +and marrud his cook, that ye treat me so? becas my father,' I tell her, +'he dealt in porrk in a large way, and I was a fine woman, full of the +arr'stocracy, and Chump a little puffed-out bladder of a man.' So then +she says: 'Mrs. Chump, I listen to no gossup: listen you to no gossup. +'And Mr. Wilfrud, my dear, he sends me on the flat o' my back, laughin'. +And Ad'la she takes and turns me right about, so that I don't see the +thing I'm askin' after; and there's nobody but you, little Belloni, to +help me, and if ye do, ye shall know what the crumple of paper sounds +like." + +Mrs. Chump gave a sugary suck with her tongue. Emilia returned the money +to her. + +"Ye're foolush!" said Mrs. Chump. "A shut fist's good in fight and bad +in friendship. Do ye know that? Open your hand." + +"Excuse me," persisted Emilia. + +"Pooh! take the money, or I'll say ye're in a conspiracy to make me +blindman's-buff of the parrty. Take ut." + +"I don't want it." + +"Maybe, it's not enough?" + +"I don't want any, ma'am." + +"Ma'am, to the deuce with ye! I'll be callin' ye a forr'ner in a minute, +I will." + +Emilia walked away from a volley of terrific threats. + +For some reason, unfathomed by her, she wanted to be alone with Wilfrid +and put a question to him. No other, in sooth, than the infallible test. +Not, mind you, that she wished to be married. But something she had +heard (she had forgotten what it was) disturbed her, and that recent +trifling with pain, in her excess of happiness, laid her open to it. Her +heart was weaker, and fluttered, as if with a broken wing. She thought, +"if I can be near him to lean against him for one full hour!" it would +make her strong again. For, she found that if her heart was rising on a +broad breath, suddenly, for no reason that she knew, it seemed to stop in +its rise, break, and sink, like a wind-beaten billow. Once or twice, in +a quick fear, she thought: "What is this? Is this a malady coming before +death?" She walked out gloomily, thinking of the darkness of the world +to Wilfrid, if she should die. She plucked flowers, and then reproached +herself with plucking them. She tried to sing. "No, not till I have +been with him alone;" she said, chiding her voice to silence. A shadow +crossed her mind, as a Spring-mist dulls the glory of May. "Suppose all +singing has gone from me--will he love wretched me?" + +By-and-by she met him in the house. "Come out of doors +to-night," she whispered. + +Wilfrid's spirit of intrigue was never to be taken by surprise. "In the +wood, under the pine, at nine," he replied. + +"Not there," said Emilia, seeing this place mournfully dark from +Cornelia's grief. "It is too still; say, where there's water falling. +One can't be unhappy by noisy water." + +Wilfrid considered, and named Wilming Weir. "And there we'll sit and +you'll sing to me. I won't dine at home, so they won't susp-a-fancy +anything.--Soh! and you want very much to be with me, my bird? What am +I?" He bent his head. + +"My lover." + +He pressed her hand rapturously, half-doubting whether her pronunciation +of the word had not a rather too confident twang. + +Was it not delightful, he asked her, that they should be thus one to the +other, and none know of it. She thought so too, and smiled happily, +promising secresy, at his request; for the sake of continuing so +felicitous a life. + +"You, you know, have an appointment with Captain Gambier, and, I with +Lady Charlotte Chillingworth," said he. "How dare you make appointments +with a captain of hussars?" and he bent her knuckles fondlingly. + +Emilia smiled as before. He left her with a distinct impression that she +did not comprehend that part of her lesson. + +Wilfrid had just bled his father of a considerable sum of money; having +assured him that he was the accepted suitor of Lady Charlotte +Chillingworth, besides making himself pleasant in allusion to Mrs. Chump, +so far as to cast some imputation on his sisters' judgement for not +perceiving the virtues of the widow. The sum was improvidently large. +Mr. Pole did not hear aright when he heard it named. Even at the +repetition, he went: "Eh?" two or three times, vacantly. The amount was +distinctly nailed to his ear: whereupon he said, "Ah!--yes! you young +fellows want money: must have it, I suppose. Up from the bowels of the +earth Up from the--: you're sure they're not playing the fool with you, +over there?" + +Wilfrid understood the indication to Stornley. "I think you need have no +fear of that, sir." And so his father thought, after an examination of +the youth, who was of manly shape, and had a fresh, non-fatuous, air. + +"Well, if that's all right..." sighed Mr. Pole. "Of course you'll always +know that money's money. I wish your sisters wouldn't lose their time, +as they do. Time's worth more than money. What sum?" + +"I told you, sir, I wanted--there's the yacht, you know, and a lot of +tradesmen's bills, which you don't like to see standing:-about--perhaps I +had better name the round sum. Suppose you write down eight hundred. I +shan't want more for some months. If you fancy it too much..." + +Mr. Pole had lifted his head. But he spoke nothing. His lips and brows +were rigid in apparent calculation. Wilfrid kept his position for a +minute or so; and then, a little piqued, he moved about. He had +inherited the antipathy to the discussion of the money question, and +fretted to find it unnecessarily prolonged. + +"Shall I come to you on this business another time, sir?" + +"No, God bless my soul!" cried his father; "are you going to keep this +hanging over me for ever? Eight hundred, you said." He mumbled: "salary +of a chief clerk of twenty years' standing. Eight: twice four:--there +you have it exactly." + +"Will you send it me in a letter?" said Wilfrid, out of patience. + +"I'll send it you in a letter," assented his father. Upon which Wilfrid +changed his mind. "I can take a chair, though. I can easily wait for it +now." + +"Save trouble, if I send it. Eh?" + +"Do you wish to see whether you can afford it, sir?" + +"I wish to see you show more sense--with your confounded 'afford.' Have +you any idea of bankers' books?--bankers' accounts?" Mr. Pole fished his +cheque-book from a drawer and wrote Wilfrid's name and the sum, tore out +the leaf and tossed it to him. "There, I've written to-day. Don't +present it for a week." He rubbed his forehead hastily, touching here +and there a paper to put it scrupulously in a line with the others. +Wilfrid left him, and thought: "Kind old boy! Of course, he always means +kindly, but I think I see a glimpse of avarice as a sort of a sign of age +coming on. I hope he'll live long!" + +Wilfrid was walking in the garden, imagining perhaps that he was +thinking, as the swarming sensations of little people help them to +imagine, when Cornelia ran hurriedly up to him and said: "Come with me to +papa. He's ill: I fear he is going to have a fit." + +"I left him sound and well, just now," said Wilfrid. "This is your +mania." + +"I found him gasping in his chair not two minutes after you quitted him. +Dearest, he is in a dangerous state!" + +Wilfrid stept back to his father, and was saluted with a ready "Well?" as +he entered; but the mask had slipped from half of the old man's face, and +for the first time in his life Wilfrid perceived that he had become an +old man. + +"Well, sir, you sent for me?" he said. + +"Girls always try to persuade you you're ill--that's all," returned Mr. +Pole. His voice was subdued; but turning to Cornelia, he fired up: "It's +preposterous to tell a man who carries on a business like mine, you've +observed for a long while that he's queer!--There, my dear child, I know +that you mean well. I shall look all right the day you're married." + +This allusion, and the sudden kindness, drew a storm of tears to +Cornelia's eyelids. + +"Papa! if you will but tell me what it is!" she moaned. + +A nervous frenzy seemed to take possession of him. He ordered her out of +the room. + +She was gone, but his arm was still stretched out, and his expression of +irritated command did not subside. + +Wilfrid took his arm and put it gently down on the chair, saying: "You're +not quite the thing to-day, sir." + +"Are you a fool as well?" Mr. Pole retorted. "What do you know of, to +make me ill? I live a regular life. I eat and drink just as you all do; +and if I have a headache, I'm stunned with a whole family screaming as +hard as they can that I'm going to die. Damned hard! I say, sir, it's--" +He fell into a feebleness. + +"A little glass of brandy, I think," Wilfrid suggested; and when Mr. Pole +had gathered his mind he assented, begging his son particularly to take +precautions to prevent any one from entering the room until he had tasted +the reviving liquor. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A half-circle of high-banked greensward, studded with old park-trees, +hung round the roar of the water; distant enough from the white-twisting +fall to be mirrored on a smooth-heaved surface, while its out-pushing +brushwood below drooped under burdens of drowned reed-flags that caught +the foam. Keen scent of hay, crossing the dark air, met Emilia as she +entered the river-meadow. A little more, and she saw the white weir- +piles shining, and the grey roller just beginning to glisten to the moon. +Eastward on her left, behind a cedar, the moon had cast off a thick +cloud, and shone through the cedar-bars with a yellowish hazy softness, +making rosy gold of the first passion of the tide, which, writhing and +straining on through many lights, grew wide upon the wonderful velvet +darkness underlying the wooded banks. With the full force of a young +soul that leaps from beauty seen to unimagined beauty, Emilia stood and +watched the picture. Then she sat down, hushed, awaiting her lover. + +Wilfrid, as it chanced, was ten minutes late. She did not hear his voice +till he had sunk on his knee by her side. + +"What a reverie!" he said half jealously. "Isn't it lovely here?" + +Emilia pressed his hand, but without turning her face to him, as her +habit was. He took it for shyness, and encouraged her with soft +exclamations and expansive tenderness. + +"I wish I had not come here!" she murmured. + +"Tell me why?" He folded his arm about her waist. + +"Why did you let me wait?" said she. + +Wilfrid drew out his watch; blamed the accident that had detained him, +and remarked that there were not many minutes to witness against him. + +She appeared to throw off her moodiness. "You are here at last. Let me +hold your hand, and think, and be quite silent." + +"You shall hold my hand, and think, and be quite silent, my own girl! if +you will tell me what's on your mind." + +Emilia thought it enough to look in his face, smiling. + +"Has any one annoyed you?" he cried out. + +"No one." + +"Then receive the command of your lord, that you kiss him." + +"I will kiss him," said Emilia; and did so. + +The salute might have appeased an imperious lord, but was not so +satisfactory to an exacting lover. He perceived, however, that, whether +as lover or as lord, he must wait for her now, owing to her having waited +for him: so, he sat by her, permitting his hand to be softly squeezed, +and trying to get at least in the track of her ideas, while her ear was +turned to the weir, and her eyes were on the glowing edges of the cedar- +tree. + +Finally, on one of many deep breaths, she said: "It's over. Why were you +late? But, never mind now. Never let it be long again when I am +expecting you. It's then I feel so much at his mercy. I mean, if I am +where I hear falling water; sometimes thunder." + +Wilfrid masked his complete mystification with a caressing smile; not +without a growing respect for the only person who could make him +experience the pangs of conscious silliness. You see, he was not a +coxcomb. + +"That German!" Emilia enlightened him. + +"Your old music-master?" + +"I wish it, I wish it! I should soon be free from him. Don't you know +that dreadful man I told you about, who's like a black angel to me, +because there is no music like his? and he's a German! I told you how I +first dreamed about him, and then regularly every night, after talking +with my father about Italy and his black-yellow Tedeschi, this man came +over my pillow and made me call him Master, Master. And he is. He seems +as if he were the master of my soul, mocking me, making me worship him in +spite of my hate. I came here, thinking only of you. I heard the water +like a great symphony. I fell into dreaming of my music. That's when I +am at his mercy. There's no one like him. I must detest music to get +free from him. How can I? He is like the God of music." + +Wilfrid now remembered certain of her allusions to this rival, who had +hitherto touched him very little. Perhaps it was partly the lovely scene +that lifted him to a spiritual jealousy, partly his susceptibility to a +sentimental exaggeration, and partly the mysterious new charm in Emilia's +manner, that was as a bordering lustre, showing how the full orb was +rising behind her. + +"His name?" Wilfrid asked for. + +Emilia's lips broke to the second letter of the alphabet; but she cut +short the word. "Why should you hear it? And now that you are here, you +drive him away. And the best is," she laughed, "I am sure you will not +remember any of his pieces. I wish I could not--not that it's the +memory; but he seems all round me, up in the air, and when the trees move +all together...you chase him away, my lover!" + +It was like a break in music, the way that Emilia suddenly closed her +sentence; coming with a shock of flattering surprise upon Wilfrid. + +Then she pursued: "My English lover! I am like Italy, in chains to that +German, and you...but no, no, no! It's not quite a likeness, for my +German is not a brute. I have seen his picture in shop-windows: the wind +seemed in his hair, and he seemed to hear with his eyes: his forehead +frowning so. Look at me, and see. So!" + +Emilia pressed up the hair from her temples and bent her brows. + +"It does not increase your beauty," said Wilfrid. + +"There's the difference!" Emilia sighed mildly. "He sees angels, +cherubs, and fairies, and imps, and devils; or he hears them: they come +before him from far off, in music. They do to me, now and then. Only +now and then, when my head's on fire.--My lover!" + +Wilfrid pressed his mouth to the sweet instrument. She took his kiss +fully, and gave her own frankly, in return. Then, sighing a very little, +she said: "Do not kiss me much." + +"Why not?" + +"No!" + +"But, look at me." + +"I will look at you. Only take my hand. See the moon is getting whiter. +The water there is like a pool of snakes, and then they struggle out, and +roll over and over, and stream on lengthwise. I can see their long flat +heads, and their eyes: almost their skins. No, my lover! do not kiss me. +I lose my peace." + +Wilfrid was not willing to relinquish his advantage, and the tender deep +tone of the remonstrance was most musical and catching. What if he +pulled her to earth from that rival of his in her soul? She would then +be wholly his own. His lover's sentiment had grown rageingly jealous of +the lordly German. But Emilia said, "I have you on my heart more when I +touch your hand only, and think. If you kiss me, I go into a cloud, and +lose your face in my mind." + +"Yes, yes;" replied Wilfrid, pleased to sustain the argument for the sake +of its fruitful promises. "But you must submit to be kissed, my darling. +You will have to." + +She gazed inquiringly. + +"When you are married, I mean." + +"When will you marry me?" she said. + +The heir-apparent of the house of Pole blinked probably at that moment +more foolishly than most mortal men have done. Taming his astonishment +to represent a smile, he remarked: "When? are you thinking about it +already?" + +She answered, in a quiet voice that conveyed the fact forcibly, "Yes." + +"But you're too young yet; and you're going to Italy, to learn in the +schools. You wouldn't take a husband there with you, would you? What +would the poor devil do?" + +"But you are not too young," said she. + +Wilfrid supposed not. + +"Could you not go to my Italy with me?" + +"Impossible! What! as a dangling husband?" Wilfrid laughed scornfully. + +"They would love you too," she said. "They are such loving people. Oh, +come! Consent to come, my lover! I must learn. If I do not, you will +despise me. How can I bring anything to lay at your feet, my dear! my +dear! if I do not?" + +"Impossible!" Wilfrid reiterated, as one who had found moorings in the +word. + +"Then I will give up Italy!" + +He had not previously acted hypocrite with this amazing girl. +Nevertheless, it became difficult not to do so. He could scarcely +believe that he had on a sudden, and by strange agency, slipped into an +earnest situation. Emilia's attitude and tone awakened him to see it. +Her hands were clenched straight down from the shoulders: all that she +conceived herself to be renouncing for his sake was expressed in her +face. + +"Would you, really?" he murmured. + +"I will!" + +"And be English altogether?" + +"Be yours!" + +"Mine?" + +"Yes; from this time." + +Now stirred his better nature: though not before had he sceptically +touched her lips and found them cold, as if the fire had been taken out +of them by what they had uttered. He felt that it was no animal love, +but the force of a soul drawn to him; and, forgetting the hypocritical +foundation he had laid, he said: "How proud I shall be of you!" + +"I shall go with you to battle," returned Emilia. + +"My little darling! You won't care to see those black fellows killed, +will you?" + +Emilia shuddered. "No; poor things! Why do you hurt them? Kill wicked +people, tyrant white-coats! And we will not talk of killing now. Proud +of me? If I can make you!" + +"You sigh so heavily!" + +"Something makes me feel like a little beggar." + +"When I tell you I love you?" + +"Yes; but I only feel rich when I am giving; and I seem to have nothing +to give now:--now that I have lost Italy!" + +"But you give me your love, don't you?" + +"All of it. But I seem to give it to you in tatters it's like a beggar; +like a day without any sun." + +"Do you think I shall have that idea when I hear you sing to me, and know +that this little leaping fountain of music here is mine?" + +Dim rays of a thought led Emilia to remark, "Must not men keel to women? +I mean, if they are to love them for ever?" + +Wilfrid smiled gallantly: "I will kneel to you, if it pleases you." + +"Not now. You should have done so, once, I dreamed only once, just for a +moment, in Italy; when all were crying out to me that I had caught their +hearts. I fancied standing out like a bright thing in a dark crowd, and +then saying "I am his!" pointing to you, and folding my arms, waiting for +you to take me." + +The lover's imagination fired at the picture, and immediately he told a +lover's lie; for the emotion excited by the thought of her glory coloured +deliciously that image of her abnegation of all to him. He said: "I +would rather have you as you are." + +Emilia leaned to him more, and the pair fixed their eyes on the moon, +that had now topped the cedar, and was pure silver: silver on the grass, +on the leafage, on the waters. And in the West, facing it, was an arch +of twilight and tremulous rose; as if a spirit hung there over the +shrouded sun. + +"At least," thought Wilfrid, "heaven, and the beauty of the world, +approve my choice." And he looked up, fancying that he had a courage +almost serene to meet his kindred with Emilia on his arm. + +She felt his arm dreamily stressing its clasp about her, and said: "Now I +know you love me. And you shall take me as I am. I need not be so poor +after all. My dear! my dear! I cannot see beyond you." + +"Is that your misery?" said he. + +"My delight! my pleasure! One can live a life anywhere. And how can I +belong to Italy, if I am yours? Do you know, when we were silent just +now, I was thinking that water was the history of the world flowing out +before me, all mixed up of kings and queens, and warriors with armour, +and shouting armies; battles and numbers of mixed people; and great red +sunsets, with women kneeling under them. Do you know those long low +sunsets? I love them. They look like blood spilt for love. The noise +of the water, and the moist green smell, gave me hundreds of pictures +that seemed to hug me. I thought--what could stir music in me more than +this? and, am I not just as rich if I stay here with my lover, instead of +flying to strange countries, that I shall not care for now? So, you +shall take me as I am. I do not feel poor any longer." + +With that she gave him both her hands. + +"Yes," said Wilfrid. + +As if struck by the ridicule of so feeble a note, falling upon her +passionate speech, he followed it up with the "yes!" of a man; adding: +"Whatever you are, you are my dear girl; my own love; mine!" + +Having said it, he was screwed up to feel it as nearly as possible, such +virtue is there in uttered words. + +Then he set about resolutely studying to appreciate her in the new +character she had assumed to him. It is barely to be supposed that he +should understand what in her love for him she sacrificed in giving up +Italy, as she phrased it. He had some little notion of the sacrifice; +but, as he did not demand any sacrifice of the sort, and as this involved +a question perplexing, irritating, absurd, he did not regard it very +favourably. As mistress of his fancy, her prospective musical triumphs +were the crown of gold hanging over her. As wife of his bosom, they were +not to be thought of. But the wife of his bosom must take her place by +virtue of some wondrous charm. What was it that Emilia could show, if +not music? Beautiful eyebrows: thick rare eyebrows, no doubt couched +upon her full eyes, they were a marvel: and her eyes were a marvel. She +had a sweet mouth, too, though the upper lip did not boast the +aristocratic conventional curve of adorable pride, or the under lip a +pretty droop to a petty rounded chin. Her face was like the aftersunset +across a rose-garden, with the wings of an eagle poised outspread on the +light. Some such coloured, vague, magnified impression Wilfrid took of +her. Still, it was not quite enough to make him scorn contempt, should +it whisper: nor even quite enough to combat successfully the image of +elegant dames in their chosen attitudes--the queenly moments when perhaps +they enter an assembly, or pour out tea with an exquisite exhibition of +arm, or recline upon a couch, commanding homage of the world of little +men. What else had this girl to count upon to make her exclusive? A +devoted heart; she had a loyal heart, and perfect frankness: a mind +impressible, intelligent, and fresh. She gave promise of fair +companionship at all seasons. She could put a spell upon him, moreover. +By that power of hers, never wilfully exercised, she came, in spite of +the effect left on him by her early awkwardnesses and 'animalities,' +nearer to his idea of superhuman nature than anything he knew of. But +how would she be regarded when the announcement of Mrs. Wilfrid Pole +brought scrutinizing eyes and gossiping mouths to bear on her? + +It mattered nothing. He kissed her, and the vision of the critical world +faded to a blank. Whatever she was, he was her prime luminary, so he +determined to think that he cast light upon a precious, an unrivalled +land. + +"You are my own, are you not, Emilia?" + +"Yes; I am," she answered. + +"That water seems to say 'for ever,'" he murmured; and Emilia's fingers +pressed upon his. + +Of marriage there was no further word. Her heart was evidently quite at +ease; and that it should be so without chaining him to a date, was +Wilfrid's peculiar desire. He could pledge himself to eternity, but +shrank from being bound to eleven o'clock on the morrow morning. + +So, now, the soft Summer hours flew like white doves from off the +mounting moon, and the lovers turned to go, all being still: even the +noise of the waters still to their ears, as life that is muffled in +sleep. They saw the cedar grey-edged under the moon: and Night, that +clung like a bat beneath its ancient open palms. The bordering sward +about the falls shone silvery. In its shadow was a swan. These scenes +are but beckoning hands to the hearts of lovers, waving them on to that +Eden which they claim: but when the hour has fled, they know it; and by +the palpitating light in it they know that it holds the best of them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +At this season Mr. Pericles reappeared. He had been, he said, through +"Paris, Turin, Milano, Veniss, and by Trieste over the Summering to +Vienna on a tour for a voice." And in no part of the Continent, his +vehement declaration assured the ladies, had he found a single one. It +was one universal croak--ahi! And Mr. Pericles could, affirm that +Purgatory would have no pains for him after the torments he had recently +endured. "Zey are frogs if zey are not geese," said Mr. Pericles. "I +give up. Opera is dead. Hein? for a time;" and he smiled almost +graciously, adding: "Where is she?" For Emilia was not present. + +The ladies now perceived a greatness of mind in the Greek's devotion to +music, and in his non-mercenary travels to assist managers of Opera by +discovering genius. His scheme for Emilia fired them with delight. They +were about to lay down all the material arrangements at once, but Mrs. +Chump, who had heard that there was a new man in the house, now entered +the room, prepared to conquer him. As thus, after a short form of +introduction: "D'ye do, sir! and ye're Mr. Paricles. Oh! but ye're a +Sultan, they say. Not in morr'ls, sir. And vary pleasant to wander on +the Cont'nent with a lot o' lacqueys at your heels. It's what a bachelor +can do. But I ask ye, sir, is ut fair, ye think, to the poor garls that +has to stop at home?" + +Hereat the ladies of Brookfield, thus miserably indicated, drew upon +their self-command that sprang from the high sense of martyrdom. + +Mr. Pericles did not reply to Mrs. Chump at all. He turned to Adela, +saying aloud: "What is zis person?" + +It might have pleased them to hear any slight put publicly on Mrs. Chump +in the first resistance to the woman, but in the present stage their +pride defended her. "Our friend," was the reply with which Arabella +rebuked his rudeness; and her sister approved her. "We can avoid showing +that we are weak in our own opinion, whatsoever degrades us," they had +said during a consultation. Simultaneously they felt that Mr. Pericles +being simply a millionaire and not In Society, being also a middle-class +foreigner (a Greek whose fathers ran with naked heels and long lank hair +on the shores of the Aegean), before such a man they might venture to +identify this their guest with themselves an undoubted duty, in any case, +but not always to be done; at least, not with grace and personal +satisfaction. Therefore, the "our friend" dispersed a common gratulatory +glow. Very small points, my masters; but how are coral-islands built? + +Mrs. Chump fanned her cheek, in complete ignorance of the offence and +defence. Chump, deceased, in amorous mood, had praised her management of +the fan once, when breath was in him: "'Martha," says he, winkin' a sort +of 'mavourneen' at me, ye know--'Martha! with a fan in your hand, if +ye're not a black-eyed beauty of a Spaniard, ye little devil of Seville!' +says he." This she had occasionally confided to the ladies. The marital +eulogy had touched her, and she was not a woman of coldly-flowing blood, +she had an excuse for the constant employment of the fan. + +"And well, Mr. Paricles! have ye got nothin' to tell us about foreign +countesses and their slips? Because, we can listen, sir, garls or not. +Sure, if they understand ye, ye teach 'em nothin'; and if they don't +understand ye, where's the harm done? D'ye see, sir? It's clear in +favour of talkin'." + +Mr. Pericles administered consolation to his moustache by twisting it +into long waxy points. "I do not know; I do not know," he put her away +with, from time to time. In the end Mrs. Chump leaned over to Arabella. +"Don't have 'm, my dear," she murmured. + +"You mean--?" quoth Arabella. + +"Here's the driest stick that aver stood without sap." + +Arabella flushed when she took the implication that she was looking on +the man as a husband. Adela heard the remarks, and flushed likewise. +Mrs. Chump eyed them both. "It's for the money o' the man," she +soliloquized aloud, as her fashion was. Adela jumped up, and with an +easy sprightly posture of her fair, commonly studious person, and natural +run of notes "Oh!" she cried, "I begin to feel what it is to be like a +live fish on the fire, frying, frying, frying! and if he can keep his +Christian sentiments under this infliction, what a wonderful hero he must +be! What a hot day!" + +She moved swiftly to the door, and flung it open. A sight met her eyes +at which she lost her self-possession. She started back, uttering a soft +cry. + +"Ah! aha! oh!" went the bitter ironic drawl of Mr. Pericles, whose sharp +glance had caught the scene as well. + +Emilia came forward with a face like sunset. Diplomacy, under the form +of Wilfrid Pole, kicked its heels behind, and said a word or two in a +tone of false cheerfulness. + +"Oh! so!" Mr. Pericles frowned, while Emilia held her hand out to him. +"Yeas! You are quite well? H'm! You are burnt like a bean--hein? I +shall ask you what you have been doing, by and by." + +Happily for decency, Mrs. Chump had not participated in the fact +presented by ocular demonstration. She turned about comfortably to greet +Wilfrid, uttering the inspired remark: "Ye look red from a sly kiss!" + +"For one?" said he, sharpening his blunted wits on this dull instrument. + +The ladies talked down their talk. Then Wilfrid and Mr. Pericles +interchanged quasi bows. + +"Oh, if he doesn't show his upper teeth like an angry cat, or a leopard +I've seen!" cried Mrs. Chump in Adela's ear, designating Mr. Pericles. +"Does he know Mr. Wilfrud's in the British army, and a new lieuten't, +gazetted and all?" + +Mr. Pericles certainly did not look pleasantly upon Wilfrid: Emilia +received his unconcealed wrath and spite. + +"Go and sing a note!" he said. + +"At the piano?" Emilia quietly asked. + +"At piano, harp, what you will--it is ze voice I want." + +Emilia pitched her note high from a full chest and with glad bright eyes, +which her fair critics thought just one degree brazen, after the +revelation in the doorway. + +Mr. Pericles listened; wearing an aching expression, as if he were +sending one eye to look up into his brain for a judgement disputed in +that sovereign seat. + +Still she held on, and then gave a tremulous, rich, contralto note. + +"Oh! the human voice!" cried Adela, overcome by the transition of tones. + +"Like going from the nightingale to the nightjar," said Arabella. + +Mrs. Chump remarked: "Ye'll not find a more susceptible woman to musuc +than me." + +Wilfrid looked away. Pride coursed through his veins in a torrent. + +When the voice was still, Mr. Pericles remained in a pondering posture. + +"You go to play fool with zat voice in Milano, you are flogged," he cried +terribly, shaking his forefinger. + +Wilfrid faced round in wrath, but Mr. Pericles would not meet his +challenge, continuing: "You hear? you hear?--so!" and Mr. Pericles +brought the palms of his hands in collision. + +"Marcy, man!" Mrs. Chump leaped from her chair; "d'ye mean that those +horrud forr'ners'll smack a full-grown young woman?--Don't go to 'm, my +dear. Now, take my 'dvice, little Belloni, and don't go. It isn't the +sting o' the smack, ye know--" + +"Shall I sing anything to you?" Emilia addressed Mr. Pericles. The +latter shrugged to express indifference. Nevertheless she sang. She had +never sung better. Mr. Pericles clutched his chin in one hand, elbow on +knee. The ladies sighed to think of the loss of homage occasioned by the +fact of so few being present to hear her. Wilfrid knew himself the +fountain of it all, and stood fountain-like, in a shower of secret +adulation: a really happy fellow. This: that his beloved should be the +centre of eyes, and pronounced exquisite by general approbation, besides +subjecting him to a personal spell: this was what he wanted. It was +mournful to think that Circumstance had not at the same time created the +girl of noble birth, or with an instinct for spiritual elegance. But the +world is imperfect. + +Presently he became aware that she was understood to be singing pointedly +to him: upon which he dismissed the council of his sensations, and began +to diplomatize cleverly. Leaning over to Adela, he whispered: + +"Pericles wants her to go to Italy. My belief is, that she won't." + +"And why?" returned Adela, archly reproachful. + +"Well, we've been spoiling her a little, perhaps. I mean, we men, of +course. But, I really don't think that I'm chiefly to blame. You won't +allow Captain Gambier to be in fault, I know." + +"Why not?" said Adela. + +"Well, if you will, then he is the principal offender." + +Adela acted disbelief; but, unprepared for her brother's perfectly +feminine audacity of dissimulation, she thought: "He can't be in earnest +about the girl," and was led to fancy that Gambier might, and to +determine to see whether it was so. + +By this manoeuvre, Wilfrid prepared for himself a defender when the +charge was brought against him. + +Mr. Pericles was thunderstruck on hearing Emilia refuse to go to Italy. +A scene of tragic denunciation on the one hand, and stubborn decision on +the other, ensued. + +"I shall not mind zis" (he spoke of Love and the awakening of the female +heart) "not when you are trained. It is good, zen, and you have fire +from it. But, now! little fool, I say, it is too airly--too airly! How +shall you learn--eh? with your brain upon a man? And your voice, little +fool, a thing of caprice, zat comes and goes as he will, not you will. +Hein? like a barrel-organ, which he turns ze handle.--Mon Dieu! Why did +I leave her?" Mr. Pericles struck his brow with his wrist, clutching at +the long thin slice of hair that did greasy duty for the departed crop on +his poll. "Did I not know it was a woman? And so you are, what you say, +in lofe." + +Emilia replied: "I have not said so," with exasperating coolness. + +"You have your eye on a man. And I know him, zat man! When he is tired +of you--whiff, away you go, a puff of smoke! And you zat I should make a +Queen of Opera! A Queen? You shall have more rule zan twenty Queens-- +forty! See" (Mr. Pericles made his hand go like an aspen-leaf from his +uplifted wrist); "So you shall set ze hearts of sossands! To dream of +you, to adore you! and flowers, flowers everywhere, on your head, at +your feet. You choose your lofer from ze world. A husband, if it is +your taste. Bose, if you please. Zen, I say, you shall, you shall lofe +a man. Let him tease and sting--ah! it will be magnifique: Aha! ze voice +will sharpen, go deep; yeas! to be a tale of blood. Lofe till you could +stab yourself:--Brava! But now? Little fool, I say!" + +Emilia believed that she was verily forfeiting an empire. Her face wore +a soft look of delight. This renunciation of a splendid destiny for +Wilfrid's sake, seemed to make her worthier of him, and as Mr. Pericles +unrolled the list of her rejected treasures, her bosom heaved without a +regret. + +"Ha!" Mr. Pericles flung away from her: "go and be a little gutter-girl!" + +The musical connoisseur drew on his own disappointment alone for +eloquence. Had he been thinking of her, he might have touched cunningly +on her love for Italy. Music was the passion of the man; and a +millionaire's passion is something that can make a stir. He knew that in +Emilia he had discovered a pearl of song rarely to be found, and his +object was to polish and perfect her at all cost: perhaps, as a secondary +and far removed consideration, to point to her as a thing belonging to +him, for which Emperors might envy him. The thought of losing her drove +him into fits of rage. He took the ladies one by one, and treated them +each to a horrible scene of gesticulation and outraged English. H +accused their brother of conduct which they were obliged to throw (by a +process of their own) into the region of Fine Shades, before they dared +venture to comprehend him. Gross facts in relationship with the voice, +this grievous "machine, not man,"--as they said--stated to them, harshly, +impetuously. The ladies felt that he had bored their ears with hot iron +pins. Adela tried laughter as a defence from his suggestion against +Wilfrid, but had shortly afterwards to fly from the fearful anatomist. +She served her brother thoroughly in the Council of Three; so that Mr. +Pericles was led by them to trust that there had; been mere fooling in +his absence, and that the emotions he looked to as the triumphant reserve +in Emilia's bosom, to be aroused at some crisis when she was before the +world, slumbered still. She, on her part, contrasting her own burning +sensations with this quaint, innocent devotion to Art and passion for +music, felt in a manner guilty; and whenever he stormed with additional +violence, she became suppliant, and seemed to bend and have regrets. Mr. +Pericles would then say, with mollified irritability: "You will come to +Italy to-morrow?--Ze day after?--not at all?" The last was given with a +roar, for lack of her immediate response. Emilia would find a tear on +her eyelids at times. Surround herself as she might with her illusions, +she had no resting-place in Wilfrid's heart, and knew it. She knew it as +the young know that they are to die on a future day, without feeling the +sadness of it, but with a dimly prevalent idea that this life is +therefore incomplete. And again her blood, as with a wave of rich +emotion, washed out the blank spot. She thought: "What can he want but +my love?" And thus she satisfied her own hungry questioning by seeming +to supply an answer to his. + +The ladies of Brookfield by no means encouraged Emilia to refuse the +generous offer of Mr. Pericles. They thought, too, that she might--might +she? Oh! certainly she might go to Italy under his protection. "Would +you let one of your blood?" asked Wilfrid brutally. With some cunning he +led them to admit that Emilia's parents should rightly be consulted in +such a case. + +One day Mr. Pericles said to the ladies: "I shall give a fete: a party +monstre. In ze air: on grass. I beg you to invite friends of yours." + +Before the excogitation of this splendid resolve, he had been observed to +wear for some period a conspiratorial aspect. When it was delivered, and +Arabella had undertaken the management of the "party monstre"--(which was +to be on Besworth Lawn, and, as it was not their own party, could be +conducted with a sort of quasi-contemptuous superiority to incongruous +gatherings)--this being settled, the forehead of Mr. Pericles cleared and +he ceased to persecute Emilia. + +"I am not one that is wopped," he said significantly; nodding to his +English hearers, as if this piece of shrewd acquaintance with the +expressive mysteries of their language placed them upon equal terms. + +It was really 'a providential thing' (as devout people phrase it) that +Laura Tinley and Mabel Copley should call shortly after this, and invite +the ladies to a proposed picnic of theirs on Besworth Lawn. On Besworth +Lawn, of all places! and they used the word 'picnic.' + +"A word suggestive of gnawed drumstick and ginger-beer bottles." Adela +quoted some scapegoat of her acquaintance, as her way was when she wished +to be pungent without incurring the cold sisterly eye of reproof for a +vulgarism. + +Both Laura and Mabel, when they heard of the mighty entertainment fixed +for Besworth Lawn by Mr. Pericles, looked down. They were invited, and +looked up. There was the usual amount of fencing with the combative +Laura, who gave ground at all points, and as she was separating, said (so +sweetly!) "Of course you have heard of the arrest of your--what does one +call him?--friend?--or a French word?" + +"You mean?" quoth Arabella. + +"That poor, neatly brushed, nice creature whom you patronized--who played +the organ!" she jerked to Arabella's dubious eyes. + +"And he?" Arabella smiled, complacently. + +"Then perhaps you may know that all is arranged for him?" said Laura, +interpreting by the look more than the word, after a habit of women. + +"Indeed, to tell you the truth, I know nothing," said Arabella. + +"Really?" Laura turned sharply to Cornelia, who met her eyes and did not +exhibit one weak dimple. + +The story was, that Mr. Chips, the Bookseller of Hillford, objected to +the departure of Mr. Barrett, until Mr. Barrett had paid the bill of Mr. +Chips: and had signified his objection in the form of a writ. "When, if +you know anything of law," said Laura, "you will see why he remains. +For, a writ once served, you are a prisoner. That is, I believe, if it's +above twenty pounds. And Mr. Chips' bill against Mr. Barrett was, I have +heard, twenty-three pounds and odd shillings. Could anything be more +preposterous? And Mr. Chips deserves to lose his money!" + +Ah! to soar out of such a set as this, of which Laura Tinley is a sample, +are not some trifling acts of inhumanity and practices in the art of +'cutting' permissible? So the ladies had often asked of the Unseen in +their onward course, if they did not pointedly put the question now. +Surely they had no desire to give pain, but the nature that endowed them +with a delicate taste, inspired them to defend it. They listened gravely +to Laura, who related that not only English books, but foreign (repeated +and emphasized), had been supplied by Mr. Chips to Mr. Barrett. + +They were in the library, and Laura's eyes rested on certain yellow and +blue covers of books certainly not designed for the reading of Mr. Pole. + +"I think you must be wrong as to Mr. Barrett's position," said Adela. + +"No, dear; not at all," Laura was quick to reply. "Unless you know +anything. He has stated that he awaits money remittances. He has, in +fact, overrun the constable, and my brother Albert says, the constable is +very likely to overrun ham, in consequence. Only a joke! But an +organist with, at the highest computation--poor absurd thing!--fifty-five +pounds per annum: additional for singing lessons, it is true,--but an +organist with a bookseller's bill of twenty-three pounds! Consider!" + +"Foreign books, too!" interjected Adela. + +"Not so particularly improving to his morals, either!" added Laura. + +"You are severe upon the greater part of the human race," said Arabella. + +"So are the preachers, dear," returned Laura. + +"The men of our religion justify you?." asked Arabella. + +"Let me see;--where were we?" Laura retreated in an affected +mystification. + +"You had reached the enlightened belief that books written by any but +English hands were necessarily destructive of men's innocence," said +Arabella; and her sisters thrilled at the neatness of the stroke, for the +moment, while they forgot the ignoble object it transfixed. Laura was +sufficiently foiled by it to be unable to return to the Chips-Barrett +theme. Throughout the interview Cornelia had maintained a triumphant +posture, superior to Arabella's skill in fencing, seeing that it exposed +no weak point of the defence by making an attack, and concealed +especially the confession implied by a relish for the conflict. Her +sisters considerately left her to recover herself, after this mighty +exercise of silence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Cornelia sat with a clenched hand. "You are rich and he is poor," was +the keynote of her thoughts, repeated from minute to minute. "And it is +gold gives you the right in the world's eye to despise him!" she +apostrophized the vanished Laura, clothing gold with all the baseness of +that person. Now, when one really hates gold, one is at war with one's +fellows. The tide sets that way. There is no compromise: to hate it is +to try to stem the flood. It happens that this is one of the temptations +of the sentimentalist, who should reflect, but does not, that the fine +feelers by which the iniquities of gold are so keenly discerned, are a +growth due to it, nevertheless. Those 'fine feelers,' or antennae of the +senses, come of sweet ease; that is synonymous with gold in our island- +latitude. The sentimentalists are represented by them among the +civilized species. It is they that sensitively touch and reject, touch +and select; whereby the laws of the polite world are ultimately +regulated, and civilization continually advanced, sometimes ridiculously. +The sentimentalists are ahead of us, not by weight of brain, but through +delicacy of nerve, and, like all creatures in the front, they are open to +be victims. I pray you to observe again the shrinking life that afflicts +the adventurous horns of the snail, for example. Such are the +sentimentalists to us--the fat body of mankind. We owe them much, and +though they scorn us, let us pity them. + +Especially when they are young they deserve pity, for they suffer +cruelly. I for my part prefer to see boys and girls led into the ways of +life by nature; but I admit that in many cases, in most cases, our good +mother has not (occupied as her hands must be) made them perfectly +presentable; by which fact I am warned to have tolerance for the finer +beings who labour under these excessive sensual subtleties. I perceive +their uses. And they are right good comedy; for which I may say that I +almost love them. Man is the laughing animal: and at the end of an +infinite search, the philosopher finds himself clinging to laughter as +the best of human fruit, purely human, and sane, and comforting. So let +us be cordially thankful to those who furnish matter for sound embracing +laughter. + +Cornelia detested gold--entirely on general grounds and for abstract +reasons. Not a word of Mr. Barrett was shaped, even in fancy; but she +interjected to herself, with meditative eye and mouth: "The saints were +poor!" (the saints of whom he had read, translating from that old Latin +book) "St. Francis! how divine was his life!" and so forth, until the +figure of Mr. Penniless Barrett walked out in her imagination clad in +saintly garments, superior not only to his creditor, Mr. Chips, but to +all who bought or sold. + +"I have been false," she said; implying the "to him." Seeing him on that +radiant height above her, she thought "How could I have fallen so!" It +was impossible for her mind to recover the delusion which had prompted +her signing herself to bondage--pledging her hand to a man she did not +love. Could it have been that she was guilty of the immense folly, +simply to escape from that piece of coarse earth, Mrs. Chump? Cornelia +smiled sadly, saying: "Oh, no! I should not have committed a wickedness +for so miserable an object." Despairing for a solution of the puzzle, +she cried out, "I was mad!", and with a gasp of horror saw herself madly +signing her name to perdition. + +"I was mad!" is a comfortable cloak to our sins in the past. Mournful to +think that we have been bereft of reason; but the fit is over, and we are +not in Bedlam! + +Cornelia next wrestled with the pride of Mr. Barrett. Why had he not +come to her once after reading the line pencilled in the book? Was it +that he would make her his debtor in everything? He could have +reproached her justly; why had he held aloof? She thirsted to be +scourged by him, to hang her head ashamed under his glance, and hug the +bitter pain he dealt her. Revolving how the worst man on earth would +have behaved to a girl partially in his power (hands had been permitted +to be pressed, and the gateways of the eyes had stood open: all but vows +had been interchanged), she came to regard Mr. Barrett as the best man on +the earth. That she alone saw it, did not depreciate the value of her +knowledge. A goal gloriously illumined blazed on her from the distance. +"Too late!" she put a curb on the hot courses in her brain, and they +being checked, turned all at once to tears and came in a flood. How +indignant would the fair sentimentalist have been at a whisper of her +caring for the thing before it was too late! + +Cornelia now daily trod the red pathways under the firs, and really +imagined herself to be surprised, even vexed, when she met Mr. Barrett +there at last. Emilia was by his side, near a drooping birch. She +beckoned to Cornelia, whose North Pole armour was doing its best to keep +down a thumping heart. + +"We are taking our last walk in the old wood," said, Mr. Barrett, +admirably collected. "That is, I must speak for myself." + +"You leave early?" Cornelia felt her throat rattle hideously. + +"In two days, I expect--I hope," said he. + +"Why does he hope?" thought Cornelia, wounded, until a vision of the +detaining Chips struck her with pity and remorse. + +She turned to Emilia. "Our dear child is also going to leave us." + +"I?" cried Emilia, fierily out of languor. + +"Does not your Italy claim you?" + +"I am nothing to Italy any more. Have I not said so? I love England +now." + +Cornelia smiled complacently. "Let us hope your heart is capacious +enough to love both." + +"Then your theory is" (Mr. Barrett addressed Cornelia in the winning old +style), "that the love of one thing enlarges the heart for another?" + +"Should it not?" She admired his cruel self-possession pitiably, as she +contrasted her own husky tones with it. + +Emilia looked from one to the other, fancying that they must have her +case somewhere in prospect, since none could be unconscious of the +vehement struggle going on in her bosom; but they went farther and +farther off from her comprehension, and seemed to speak of bloodless +matters. "And yet he is her lover," she thought. "When they meet they +talk across a river, and he knows she is going to another man, and does +not gripe her wrist and drag her away!" The sense that she had no +kinship with such flesh shut her mouth faster than Wilfrid's injunctions +(which were ordinarily conveyed in too subtle a manner for her to feel +their meaning enough to find them binding). Cornelia, for a mask to her +emotions, gave Emilia a gentle, albeit high-worded lecture on the +artist's duty toward Art, quoting favourite passages from Mr. Barrett's +favourite Art-critic. And her fashion of dropping her voice as she +declaimed the more dictatorial sentences (to imply, one might guess, by a +show of personal humility that she would have you to know her preaching +was vicarious; that she stood humbly in the pulpit, and was but a vessel +for the delivery of the burden of the oracle), all this was beautiful to +him who could see it. I cannot think it was wholesome for him; nor that +Cornelia was unaware of a naughty wish to glitter temporarily in the eyes +of the man who made her feel humble. The sorcery she sent through his +blood communicated itself to hers. When she had done, Emilia, +convincedly vanquished by big words, said, "I cannot talk," and turned +heavily from them without bestowing a smile upon either. + +Cornelia believed that the girl would turn back as abruptly as she had +retreated; and it was not until Emilia was out of sight that she +remembered the impropriety of being alone with Mr. Barrett. The Pitfall +of Sentiment yawned visible, but this lady's strength had been too little +tried for her to lack absolute faith in it. So, out of deep silences, +the two leapt to speech and immediately subsided to the depths again: as +on a sultry summer's day fishes flash their tails in the sunlight and +leave a solitary circle widening on the water. + +Then Cornelia knew what was coming. In set phrase, and as one who +performs a duty frigidly pleasant, he congratulated her on her rumored +union. One hand was in his buttoned coat; the other hung elegantly +loose: not a feature betrayed emotion. He might have spoken it in a +ballroom. To Cornelia, who exulted in self-compression, after the Roman +method, it was more dangerous than a tremulous tone. + +"You know me too well to say this, Mr. Barrett." + +The words would come. She preserved her steadfast air, when they had +escaped, to conceal her shame. Seeing thus much, he took it to mean that +it was a time for plain-speaking. To what end, he did not ask. + +"You have not to be told that I desire your happiness above all earthly +things," he said: and the lady shrank back, and made an effort to recover +her footing. Had he not been so careful to obliterate any badge of the +Squire of low degree, at his elbows, cuffs, collar, kneecap, and head- +piece, she might have achieved it with better success. For cynicism (the +younger brother of sentiment and inheritor of the family property) is +always on the watch to deal fatal blows through such vital parts as the +hat or the H's, or indeed any sign of inferior estate. But Mr. Barrett +was armed at all points by a consummate education and a most serviceable +clothesbrush. + +"You know how I love this neighbourhood!" said she. + +"And I! above all that I have known!" + +They left the pathway and walked on mosses--soft yellow beds, run over +with grey lichen, and plots of emerald in the midst. + +"You will not fall off with your reading?" he recommenced. + +She answered "Yes," meaning "No"; and corrected the error languidly, +thinking one of the weighty monosyllables as good as the other: for what +was reading to her now? + +"It would be ten thousand pities if you were to do as so many women do, +when...when they make these great changes," he continued. + +"Of what avail is the improvement of the mind?" she said, and followed +his stumble over the "when," and dropped on it. + +"Of what avail! Is marriage to stop your intellectual growth?" + +"Without sympathy," she faltered, and was shocked at what she said; but +it seemed a necessity. + +"You must learn to conquer the need for it." + +Alas! his admonition only made her feel the need more cravingly. + +"Promise me one thing," he said. "You will not fall into the rut? Let +me keep the ideal you have given me. For the sake of heaven, do not +cloud for me the one bright image I hold! Let me know always that you +are growing, and that the pure, noble intelligence which distinguishes +you advances, and will not be subdued." + +Cornelia smiled faintly. "You have judged me too generously, +Mr. Barrett." + +"Too little so! might I tell you!" He stopped short, and she felt the +silence like a great wave sweeping over her. + +They were nearing the lake, with the stump of the pollard-willow in +sight, and toward it they went. + +"I shall take the consolation of knowing that I shall hear of you, some +day," she said, having recourse to a look of cheerfulness. + +He knew her to allude to certain hopes of fame. "I am getting wiser, +I fear--too wise for ambition!" + +"That is a fallacy, a sophism." + +He pointed to the hollow tree. "Is there promise of fruit from that?" + +"You...you are young, Mr. Barrett." + +"And on a young, forehead it may be written, 'Come not to gather more.'" + +Cornelia put her hand out: "Oh, Mr. Barrett! unsay it!" The nakedness of +her spirit stood forth in a stinging tear. "The words were cruel." + +"But, if they live, and are?" + +"I feel that you must misjudge me. When I wrote them...you cannot know! +The misery of our domestic life was so bitter! And yet, I have no +excuse, none! I can only ask for pity." + +"And if you are wretched, must not I be? You pluck from me my last +support. This, I petitioned Providence to hear from you--that you would +be happy! I can have no comfort but in that." + +"Happy!" Cornelia murmured the word musically, as if to suck an irony +from the sweetness of the sound. "Are we made for happiness?" + +Mr. Barrett quoted the favourite sage, concluding: "But a brilliant home +and high social duties bring consolation. I do acknowledge that an +eminent station will not only be graced by you, but that you give the +impression of being born to occupy it. It is your destiny." + +"A miserable destiny!" + +It pleased Cornelia to become the wilful child who quarrels with its +tutor's teachings, upon this point. + +Then Mr. Barrett said quickly: "Your heart is not in this union?" + +"Can you ask? I have done my duty." + +"Have you, indeed!" + +His tone was severe in the deliberation of its accents. + +Was it her duty to live an incomplete life? He gave her a definition of +personal duty, and shadowed out all her own ideas on the subject; seeming +thus to speak terrible, unanswerable truth. + +As one who changes the theme, he said: "I have forborne to revert to +myself in our interviews; they were too divine for that. You will always +remember that I have forborne much." + +"Yes!" She was willing at the instant to confess how much. + +"And if I speak now, I shall not be misinterpreted?" + +"You never would have been, by me." + +"Cornelia!" + +Though she knew what was behind the door, this flinging of it open with +her name startled the lady; and if he had faltered, it would not have +been well for him. But, plainly, he claimed the right to call her by her +Christian name. She admitted it; and thenceforward they were equals. + +It was an odd story that he told of himself. She could not have repeated +it to make it comprehensible. She drank at every sentence, getting no +more from it than the gratification of her thirst. His father, at least, +was a man of title, a baronet. What was meant by estates not entailed? +What wild freak of fate put this noble young man in the power of an +eccentric parent, who now caressed him, now made him an outcast? She +heard of the sum that was his, coming from his dead mother to support him +just one hundred pounds annual! Was ever fate so mournful? + +Practically, she understood that if Mr. Barrett would write to his +father, pledging himself to conform to his mysterious despotic will in +something, he would be pardoned and reinstated. + +He concluded: "Hitherto I have preferred poverty. You have taught me at +what a cost! Is it too late?" + +The fall of his voice, with the repetition of her name, seemed as if +awakening her, but not in a land of reason. + +"Why...why!" she whispered. + +"Beloved?" + +"Why did you not tell me this before?" + +"Do you upbraid me?" + +"Oh, no! Oh, never!" she felt his hand taking hers gently. "My friend," +she said, half in self-defence; and they, who had never kissed as lovers, +kissed under the plea of friendship. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +All Wilfrid's diplomacy was now brought into play to baffle Mr. Pericles, +inspire Emilia with the spirit of secresy, and carry on his engagement to +two women to their common satisfaction. Adela, whose penetration he +dreaded most, he had removed by a flattering invitation to Stornley; and +that Emilia might be occupied during his absences, and Mr. Pericles +thrown on a false scent, he persuaded Tracy Runningbrook to come to +Brookfield, and write libretti for Emilia's operas. The two would sit +down together for an hour, drawing wonderful precocious noses upon +juvenile visages, when Emilia would sigh and say: "I can't work!"--Tracy +adding, with resignation: "I never can!" At first Mr. Pericles dogged +them assiduously. After a little while he shrugged, remarking: "It is a +nonsense." + +They were, however, perfectly serious about the production of an opera, +Tracy furnishing verse to Emilia's music. He wrote with extraordinary +rapidity, but clung to graphic phrases, that were not always supple +enough for nuptials with modulated notes. Then Emilia had to hit his +sense of humour by giving the words as they came in the run of the song. +"You make me crow, or I croak," she said. + +"The woman follows the man, and music fits to verse," cried Tracy. +"Music's the vine, verse the tree." + +Emilia meditated. "Not if they grow up together," she suggested, and +broke into a smile at his rapture of amusement; which was succeeded by a +dark perplexity, worthy of the present aspect of Mr. Pericles. + +"That's what has upset us," he said. "We have been trying to 'grow up +together,' like first-cousins, and nature forbids the banns. To-morrow +you shall have half a libretto. And then, really, my child, you must +adapt yourself to the words." + +"I will," Emilia promised; "only, not if they're like iron to the teeth." + +"My belief is," said Tracy savagely, "that music's a fashion, and as +delusive a growth as Cobbett's potatoes, which will go back to the deadly +nightshade, just as music will go back to the tom-tom." + +"What have you called out when I sang to you!" Emilia reproached him for +this irreverent nonsense. + +"Oh! it was you and not the music," he returned half-cajolingly, while he +beat the tom-tom on air. + +"Hark here!" cried Emilia. She recited a verse. "Doesn't that sound +dead? Now hark!" She sang the verse, and looked confidently for Tracy's +verdict at the close. + +"What a girl that is!" He went about the house, raving of her to +everybody, with sundry Gallic interjections; until Mrs. Chump said: +"'Deed, sir, ye don't seem to have much idea of a woman's feelin's." + +Tracy produced in a night two sketches of libretti for Emilia to choose +from--the Roman Clelia being one, and Camillus the other. Tracy praised +either impartially, and was indifferent between them, he told her. +Clelia offered the better theme for passionate song, but there was a +winning political object and rebuff to be given to Radicalism in +Camillus. "Think of Rome!" he said. + +Emilia gave the vote for Camillus, beginning forthwith to hum, with +visions of a long roll of swarthy cavalry, headed by a clear-eyed young +chief, sunlight perching on his helm. + +"Yes; but you don't think of the situations in Clelia, and what I can do +with her," snapped Tracy. "I see a song there that would light up all +London. Unfortunately, the sentiment's dead Radical. It wouldn't so +much matter if we were certain to do Camillus as well; because one would +act as a counterpoise to the other, you know. Well, follow your own +fancy. Camillus is strictly classical. I treat opera there as Alfieri +conceived tragedy. Clelia is modern style. Cast the die for Camillus, +and let's take horse. Only, we lose the love-business--exactly where I +show my strength. Clelia in the camp of the king: dactyllic chorus- +accompaniment, while she, in heavy voluptuous anapaests, confesses her +love for the enemy of her country. Remember, this is our romantic opera, +where we do what we like with History, and make up our minds for asses +telling us to go home and read our 'student's Rome.' Then that scene +where she and the king dance the dactyls, and the anapaests go to the +chorus. Sublime! Let's go into the woods and begin. We might give the +first song or two to-night. In composition, mind, always strike out your +great scene, and work from it--don't work up to it, or you've lost fire +when you reach the point. That's my method." + +They ran into the woods, skipping like schoolboy and schoolgirl. On +hearing that Camillus would not be permitted to love other than his +ungrateful country, Emilia's conception of the Roman lord grew pale, and +a controversy ensued-she maintaining that a great hero must love a woman; +he declaring that a great hero might love a dozen, but that it was +beneath the dignity of this drama to allow of a rival to Rome in +Camillus's love. + +"He will not do for music," said Emilia firmly, and was immoveable. In +despair, Tracy proposed attaching a lanky barbarian daughter to Brennus, +whose deeds of arms should provoke the admiration of the Roman. + +"And so we relinquish Alfieri for Florian! There's a sentimental +burlesque at once!" the youth ejaculated, in gloom. "I chose this +subject entirely to give you Rome for a theme." + +Emilia took his hand. "I do thank you. If Brennus has a daughter, why +not let her be half Roman?" + +Tracy fired out: "she's a bony woman, with a brawny development; mammoth +haunches, strong of the skeleton; cheek-bones, flat-forward, as a fish 's +rotting on a beach; long scissor lips-nippers to any wretched rose of a +kiss! a pugilist's nose to the nostrils of a phoca; and eyes!--don't you +see them?--luminaries of pestilence; blotted yellow, like a tallow candle +shining through a horny lantern." + +At this horrible forced-poetic portrait, Emilia cried in pain: "You hate +her suddenly!" + +"I loathe the creature--pah!" went Tracy. + +"Why do you make her so hideous?" Emilia complained. "I feel myself +hating her too. Look at me. Am I such a thing as that?" + +"You!" Tracy was melted in a trice, and gave the motion of hugging, as a +commentary on his private opinion. + +"Can you also be sure that Camillus can love nothing but his country? +Would one love stop the other?" she persisted, gazing with an air of +steady anxiety for the answer. + +"There isn't a doubt about it," said Tracy. + +Emilia caught her face in her hands, and exclaimed in a stifling voice: +"It's true! it's true!" + +Tracy saw that her figure was shaken with sobs--unmistakeable, hard, +sorrowful convulsions. + +"Confound historical facts that make her cry!" he murmured to himself, in +a fury at the Roman fables. "It's no use comforting her with Niebuhr +now. She's got a live Camillus in her brain, and there he'll stick." +Tracy began to mutter the emphatic D.; quite cognizant of her case, as he +supposed. This intensity of human emotion about a dry faggot of history +by no means surprised him; and he was as tender to the grief of his +darling little friend as if he had known the conflict that tore her in +two. Subsequently he related the incident, in a tone of tender delight, +to Wilfrid, whom it smote. "Am I a brute?" asked the latter of the +Intelligences in the seat of his consciousness, and they for the moment +gravely affirmed it. I have observed that when young men obtain this +mental confirmation of their suspicions, they wax less reluctant to act +as brutes than when the doubt restrained them. + +He reasoned thus: "I can bring my mind to the idea of losing her, if it +must be so." (Hear, hear! from the unanimous internal Parliament.) "But +I can't make her miserable (cheers)--I can't go and break her heart" +(loud cheers, drowning a faint dissentient hum).--The scene, of which +Tracy had told him, gave Wilfrid a kind of dread of the girl. If that +was her state of feeling upon a distant subject, how would it be when he +applied the knife. Simply, impossible to use the knife at all! Wield it +thou, O Circumstance, babe-munching Chronos, whosoever thou art, that +jarrest our poor human music effectually from hour to hour! + +Colonel Pierson paid his promised visit, on his way back to his quarters +at Verona. His stay was shortened by rumours of anticipated troubles in +Italy. One day at table he chanced to observe, speaking of the Milanese, +that they required another lesson, and that it would save the shedding of +blood if, annually, the chief men of the city took a flogging for the +community (senseless arrogance that sensible, and even kindly, men will +sometimes be tempted to utter, and prompted to act on, in that +deteriorating state of a perpetual repressive force).--Emilia looked at +him till she caught his eye: "I hope I shall never meet you there," she +said. + +The colonel coloured, and drew his finger along each curve of his +moustache. The table was silent. Colonel Pierson was a gentleman, but a +false position and the irritating topic deprived him of proper self- +command. + +"What would you do?" he said, not gallantly. + +Emilia would have been glad to have been allowed to subside, but the tone +stung her. + +"I could not do much; I am a woman," said she. + +Whereto the colonel: "It's only the women who do anything over there." + +"And that is why you flog them!" + +The colonel, seeing himself surrounded by ladies, lost the right guidance +of his wits, at this point, reddened, and was saved by an Irish outcry of +horror from some unpleasant and possibly unmanly retort. "Mr. Paricles +said exactly the same. Oh, sir! do ye wear an officer's uniform to go +about behavin' in that shockin' way to poor helpless females?" + +This was the first time Mrs. Chump had ever been found of service at the +Brookfield dining-table. Colonel Pierson joined the current smile, and +the matter passed. + +He was affectionate with Wilfrid, and invited him to Verona, with the +assurance that his (the Austrian) school of cavalry was the best in the +world. "You beat us in pace and weight; but you can't skirmish, you +can't manage squadrons, and you know nothing of outpost duty," said the +colonel. Wilfrid promised to visit him some day: a fact he denied to +Emilia, when she charged him with it. Her brain seemed to be set on fire +by the presence of an Austrian officer. The miserable belief that she +had abandoned her country pressing on her remorsefully, she lost +appetite, briskness of eye, and the soft reddish-brown ripe blood-hue +that made her cheeks sweet to contemplate. She looked worn, small, +wretched: her very walk indicated self-contempt. Wilfrid was keen to see +the change for which others might have accused a temporary headache. Now +that she appeared under this blight, it seemed easier to give her up; and +his magnanimity being thus encouraged (I am not hard on him--remember the +constitution of love, in which a heart un-aroused is pure selfishness, +and a heart aroused heroic generosity; they being one heart to outer +life)--his magnanimity, I say, being under this favourable sun, he said +to himself that there should be an end of double-dealing; and, possibly +consoled by feeling a martyr, he persuaded himself to act the gentle +ruffian. To which end, he was again absent from Brookfield, for a space, +and bitterly missed. + +Emilia, for the last two Sundays, had taken Mr. Barrett's place at the +organ. She was playing the prelude to one of the evening hymns, when the +lover, whose features she dreaded to be once more forgetting, appeared in +the curtained enclosure. A stoppage in the tune, and a prolonged squeal +of the instrument, gave the congregation below matter to speculate upon. +Wilfrid put up his finger and sat reverently down, while Emilia plunged +tremblingly at the note that was howling its life away. And as she +managed to swim into the stream of the sacred melody again, her head was +turned toward her lover under a new sensation; and the first words she +murmured were, "We have never been in church together, before." + +"Not in the evening," he whispered, likewise impressed. + +"No," said Emilia softly; flattered by his greater accuracy. + +If Wilfrid could have been sure that he would be perfect master of that +sentimental crew known to him under the denomination of his feelings, the +place he selected for their parting interview might be held creditable to +this young officer's acknowledged strategical ability. It was a place +where any fervid appeals were impossible; where he could contemplate her, +listen to her, be near her, alone with her, having nothing to dread from +tears, supplications, or passion, as a consequence of the short +indulgence of his tenderness. But he had failed to reckon on the chances +that he himself might prove weak and be betrayed by the crew for whose +comfort he was always providing; and now, as she sat there, her face +being sideways to him, the flush of delight faint on her cheek, and her +eyelids half raised to the gilded pipes, while full and sonorous harmony +rolled out from her touch, it seemed the very chorus of the heavens that +she commanded, and a subtle misty glory descended upon her forehead, +which he was long in perceiving to be cast from a moisture on his +eyelids. + +When the sermon commenced, Emilia quitted the organ and took his hand. +In very low whispers, they spoke: + +"I have wanted to see you so!" + +"You see me now, little woman." + +"On Friday week next I am to go away." + +"Nonsense! You shall not." + +"Your sisters say, yes! Mr. Pericles has got my father's consent, they +say, to take me to Italy." + +"Do you think of going?" + +Emilia gazed at her nerveless hands lying in her lap. + +"You shall not go!" he breathed imperiously in her ear. + +"Then you will marry me quite soon?" And Emilia looked as if she would +be smiling April, at a word. + +"My dear girl!" he had an air of caressing remonstrance. + +"Because," she continued, "if my father finds me out, I must go to Italy, +or go to that life of torment in London--seeing those Jew-people-- +horrible!--or others and the thought of it is like being under the earth, +tasting bitter gravel! I could almost bear it before you kissed me, my +lover! It would kill me now. Say! say! Tell me we shall be together. +I shudder all day and night, and feel frozen hands catching at me. I +faint--my heart falls deep down, in the dark...I think I know what dying +is now!" + +She stopped on a tearless sob; and, at her fingers' ends, Wilfrid felt +the quivering of her frame. + +"My darling!" he interjected. He wished to explain the situation to her, +as he then conceived it. But he had, in his calculation, failed also to +count on a peculiar nervous fretfulness, that the necessity to reiterate +an explanation in whispers must superinduce. So, when Emilia looked +vacant of the intelligence imparted to her, he began anew, and +emphatically; and ere he was half through it, Mr. Marter, from the pulpit +underneath, sent forth a significant reprimand to the conscience of a +particular culprit of his congregation, in the form of a solemn cough. +Emilia had to remain unenlightened, and she proceeded to build on her +previous assumption; doing the whispering easily and sweetly; in the +prettiest way from her tongue's tip, with her chin lifted up; and sending +the vowels on a prolonged hushed breath, that seemed to print them on the +hearing far more distinctly than a volume of sound. Wilfrid fell back on +monosyllables. He could not bring his mouth to utter flinty negatives, +so it appeared that he assented; and then his better nature abused him +for deluding her. He grew utterly ashamed of his aimless selfish double- +dealing. "Can it be?" he questioned his own mind, and listened greedily +to any mental confirmations of surpassing excellence in her, that the +world might possibly acknowledge. Having, with great zeal, created a set +of circumstances, he cursed them heartily, after the fashion of little +people. He grew resigned to abandon Lady Charlotte, and to give his name +to this subduing girl; but a comfortable quieting sensation came over +him, at the thought that his filial duty stood in the way. His father, +he knew, was anxious for him to marry into a noble family-- +incomprehensibly anxious to have the affair settled; and, as two or three +scenes rose in his mind, Wilfrid perceived that the obstacle to his +present fancy was his father. + +As clearly as he could, with the dread of the preacher's admonishing +cough before him, Wilfrid stated the case to Emilia; saying that he loved +her with his whole heart; but that the truth was, his father was not in a +condition of health to bear contradiction to his wishes, and would, he +was sure, be absolutely opposed to their union. He brought on himself +another reprimand from Mr. Marter, in seeking to propitiate Emilia's +reason to comprehend the position rightly; and could add little more to +the fact he had spoken, than that his father had other views, which it +would require time to combat. + +Emilia listened attentively, replying with a flying glance to the squeeze +of his hand. He was astonished to see her so little disconcerted. But +now the gradual fall of Mr. Marter's voice gave them warning. + +"My lover?" breathed Emilia, hurriedly and eagerly; questioning with eye +and tone. + +"My darling!" returned Wilfrid. + +She sat down to the organ with a smile. He was careful to retreat before +the conclusion of the service; somewhat chagrined by his success. That +smile of hers was inexplicable to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +Mr. Pole was closeted in his City counting-house with Mr. Pericles, +before a heap of papers and newly-opened foreign letters; to one of +which, bearing a Russian stamp, he referred fretfully at times, as if to +verify a monstrous fact. Any one could have seen that he was not in a +condition to transact business. His face was unnaturally patched with +colour, and his grey-tinged hair hung tumbled over his forehead like +waves blown by a changeing wind. Still, he maintained his habitual +effort to look collected, and defeat the scrutiny of the sallow-eyed +fellow opposite; who quietly glanced, now and then, from the nervous feet +to the nervous fingers, and nodded to himself a sardonic outlandish nod. + +"Now, listen to me," said Mr. Pericles. "We shall not burst out about +zis Riga man. He is a villain,--very well. Say it. He is a villain,-- +say so. And stop. Because" (and up went the Greek's forefinger), "we +must not have a scandal, in ze fairst place. We do not want pity, in ze +second. Saird, we must seem to trust him, in spite. I say, yeas! What +is pity to us of commerce? It is contempt. We trust him on, and we lose +what he pocket--a sossand. We burst on him, and we lose twenty, serty, +forty; and we lose reputation." + +"I'd have every villain hanged," cried Mr. Pole. "The scoundrel! I'd +hang him with his own hemp. He talks of a factory burnt, and dares to +joke about tallow! and in a business letter! and when he is telling one +of a loss of money to that amount!" + +"Not bad, ze joke," grinned Mr. Pericles. "It is a lesson of coolness. +We learn it. But mind! he say, 'possible loss.' It is not positif. +Hein! ze man is trying us. So! shall we burst out and make him +desperate? We are in his hand at Riga, you see?" + +"I see this," said Mr. Pole, "that he's a confounded rascal, and I'll +know whether the law can't reach him." + +"Ha! ze law!" Mr. Pericles sneered. "So you are, you. English. Always, +ze law! But, we are men--we are not machine. Law for a machine, not a +man! We punish him, perhaps. Well; he is punished. He is imprisoned-- +forty monz. We pay for him a sossand pound a monz. He is flogged--forty +lashes. We pay for him a sossand pound a lash. You can afford zat? It +is a luxury like anozer. It is not for me." + +"How long are we to trust the villain?" said Mr. Pole. "If we trust him +at all, mind! I don't say I do, or will." + +"Ze money is locked up for a year, my friend. So soon we get it, so soon +he goes, from ze toe off." Mr. Pericles' shining toe's-tip performed an +agile circuit, and he smoothed his square clean jaw and venomous +moustache reflectively. "Not now," he resumed. "While he hold us in his +hand, we will not drive him to ze devil, or we go too, I believe, or part +of ze way. But now, we say, zat money is frozen in ze Nord. We will +make it in Australie, and in Greek waters. I have exposed to you my +plan." + +"Yes," said Mr. Pole, "and I've told you I've no pretensions to be a +capitalist. We have no less than three ventures out, already." + +"It is like you English! When you have ze world to milk, you go to one +point and stick. It fails, and you fail. What is zat word?"--Mr. +Pericles tapped his brow--"pluck,--you want pluck. It is your decadence. +Greek, and Russian, and Yankee, all zey beat you. For, it is pluck. You +make a pin's head, not a pin. It is in brain and heart you do fail. You +have only your position,--an island, and ships, and some favour. You are +no match in pluck. We beat you. And we live for pleasure, while you +groan and sweat--mon Dieu! it is slavery." + +Mr. Pericles twinkled his white eyes over the blinking merchant, and rose +from his chair, humming a bit of opera, and announcing, casually, that a +certain prima-donna had obtained a divorce from her husband. + +"But," he added suddenly, "I say to you, if you cannot afford to +speculate, run away from it as ze fire. Run away from it, and hold up +your coat-tail. Jump ditches, and do not stop till you are safe home-- +hein? you say 'cosy?' I hear my landlady. Run till you are safe cosy. +But if you are a man wis a head and a pocket, zen you know that +'speculate' means a dozen ventures. So, you come clear. Or, it is ruin. +It is ruin, I say: you have been playing." + +"An Englishman," returned Mr. Pole, disgusted at the shrugs he had +witnessed--"an Englishman's as good as any of you. Look at us--look at +our history--look at our wealth. By Jingo! But we like plain-dealing +and common sense; and as to afford, what do you mean?" + +"No, no," Mr. Pericles petitioned with uplifted hand; "my English is bad. +It is--ah! bad. You shall look it over--my plan. It will strike your +sense. Next week I go to Italy. I take ze little Belloni. You will +manage all. I have in you, my friend, perfec' confidence. An +Englishman, he is honest. An Englishman and a Greek conjoined, zey beat +ze world! It is true, ma foi. For zat, I seek you, and not a +countryman. A Frenchman?--oh, no! A German?--not a bit! A Russian?-- +never! A Yankee?--save me! I am a Greek--I take an Englishman." + +"Well, well, you must leave me to think it over," said Mr. Pole, +pleasantly smoothed down. "As to honesty, that's a matter of course with +us: that's the mere footing we go upon. We don't plume ourselves upon +what's general, here. There is, I regret to say, a difference between us +and other nations. I believe it's partly their religion. They swindle +us, and pay their priests for absolution with our money. If you're a +double-dyed sinner, you can easily get yourself whitewashed over there. +Confound them! When that fellow sent no remittance last month, I told +you I suspected him. Who was, the shrewdest then? As for pluck, I never +failed in that yet. But, I will see a thing clear. The man who +speculates blindfold, is a fowl who walks into market to be plucked. +Between being plucked, and having pluck, you'll see a distinction when +you know the language better; but you must make use of your head, or the +chances are you won't be much of a difference,--eh? I'll think over your +scheme. I'm not a man to hesitate, if the calculations are sound. I'll +look at the papers here." + +"My friend, you will decide before zat I go to Italy." said Mr. Pericles, +and presently took his leave. + +When he was gone, Mr. Pole turned his chair to the table, and made an +attempt to inspect one of the papers deliberately. Having untied it, he +retied it with care, put it aside, marked 'immediate,' and read the +letter from Riga anew. This he tore into shreds, with animadversions on +the quality of the rags that had produced it, and opened the important +paper once more. He got to the end of a sentence or two, when his +fingers moved about for the letter; and then his mind conceived a +necessity for turning to the directory, for which he rang the bell. The +great red book was brought into his room by a youthful clerk, who waited +by, while his master, unaware of his presence, tracked a name with his +forefinger. It stopped at Pole, Samuel Bolton; and a lurking smile was +on the merchant's face as he read the name: a smile of curious meaning, +neither fresh nor sad; the meditative smile of one who looks upon an +afflicted creature from whom he is aloof. After a lengthened +contemplation of this name, he said, with a sigh, "Poor Chump! I wonder +whether he's here, too." A search for the defunct proved that he was out +of date. Mr. Pole thrust his hand to the bell that he might behold poor +Chump in an old directory that would call up the blotted years. + +"I am here, sir," said his clerk, who had been holding deferential watch +at a few steps from the table. + +"What do you do here then, sir, all this time?" + +"I waited, sir, because--" + +"You waste and dawdle away twenty or thirty minutes, when you ought to be +doing your work. What do you mean?" Mr. Pole stood up and took an angry +stride. + +The young man could scarcely believe his master was not stooping to jest +with him. He said: "For that matter, sir, it can't be a minute that I +have been wasting." + +"I called you in half an hour ago," returned Mr. Pole, fumbling at his +watch-fob. + +"It must have been somebody else, sir." + +"Did you bring in this directory? Look at it! This?" + +"This is the book that I brought in, sir." + +"How long since?" + +"I think, not a minute and a half, sir." + +Mr. Pole gazed at him, and coughed slowly. "I could have sworn..." he +murmured, and commenced blinking. + +"I suppose I must be a little queer," he pursued; and instantly his right +hand struck out, quivering. The young clerk grasped it, and drew him to +a chair. + +"Tush," said his master, working his feverish fingers across his +forehead. "Want of food. I don't eat like you young fellows. Fetch me +a glass of wine and a biscuit. Good wine, mind. Port. Or, no; you +can't trust tavern Port:--brandy. Get it yourself, don't rely on the +porter. And bring it yourself, you understand the importance? What is +your name?" + +"Braintop," replied the youth, with the modesty of one whose name has +been too frequently subjected to puns. + +"I think I never heard so singular a name in my life," Mr. Pole +ejaculated seriously. "Braintop! It'll always make me think of brandy. +What are you waiting for now?" + +"I took the liberty of waiting before, to say that a lady wished to see +you, sir." + +Mr. Pole started from his chair. "A foreign lady?" + +"She may be foreign. She speaks English, sir, and her name, I think, was +foreign. I've forgotten it, I fear." + +"It's the wife of that fellow from Riga!" cried the merchant. "Show her +in. Show her in, immediately. I suspected this. She's in London, I +know. I'm equal to her: show her in. When you fetch the Braintop and +biscuit, call me to the door. You understand." + +The youth affected meekly to enjoy this fiery significance given to his +name, and said that he understood, without any doubt. He retired, and in +a few moments ushered in Emilia Belloni. + +Mr. Pole was in the middle of the room, wearing a countenance of marked +severity, and watchful to maintain it in his opening bow; but when he +perceived his little Brookfield guest standing timidly in the doorway, +his eyebrows lifted, and his hands spread out; and "Well, to be sure!" he +cried; while Emilia hurried up to him. She had to assure him that +everything was right at home, and was next called upon to state what had +brought her to town; but his continued exclamation of "Bless my soul!" +reprieved her reply, and she sat in a chair panting quickly. + +Mr. Pole spoke tenderly of refreshments; wine and cake, or biscuits. + +"I cannot eat or drink," said Emilia. + +"Why, what's come to you, my dear?" returned Mr. Pole in unaffected +wonder. + +"I am not hungry." + +"You generally are, at home, about this time--eh?" + +Emilia sighed, and feigned the sad note to be a breath of fatigue. + +"Well, and why are you here, my dear?" Mr. Pole was beginning to step to +the right and the left of her uneasily. + +"I have come--" she paused, with a curious quick speculating look between +her eyes; "I have come to see you." + +"See me, my dear? You saw me this morning." + +"Yes; I wanted to see you alone." + +Emilia was having the first conflict with her simplicity; out of which it +was not to issue clear, as in the foregone days. She was thinking of the +character of the man she spoke to, studying him, that she might win him +to succour the object she had in view. It was a quality going, and a +quality coming; nor will we, if you please, lament a law of growth. + +"Why, you can see me alone, any day, my dear," said Mr. Pole; "for many a +day, I hope." + +"You are more alone to me here. I cannot speak at Brookfield. Oh!"--and +Emilia had to still her heart's throbbing--"you do not want me to go to +Italy, do you?" + +"Want you to go? Not a bit. There is some talk of it, isn't there? I +don't want you to go. Don't you want to go." + +"No! no!" said Emilia, with decisive fervour. + +"Don't want to go?" + +"No: to stay! I want to stay!" + +"Eh? to stay?" + +"To stay with you! Never to leave England, at least! I want to give up +all that I may stay." + +"All?" repeated Mr. Pole, evidently marvelling as to what that sounding +box might contain; and still more, perplexed to hear Emilia's vehement-- +"Yes! all!" as if there were that in the mighty abnegation to make a +reasonable listener doubtful. + +"No. I really don't want you to go," he said. "In fact," and the +merchant's hospitable nature was at war with something in his mind, "I +like you, my dear; I like to have you about me. You're cheerful; you're +agreeable; I like your smile; your voice, too. You're a very pleasant +companion. Only, you know, we may break up our house. If the girls get +married, I must live somewhere in lodgings, and I couldn't very well ask +you to cook for me." + +"I can cook a little," Emilia smiled. "I went into the kitchen, till +Adela objected." + +"Yes, but it wouldn't do, you know," pursued Mr. Pole, with the +seriousness of a man thrown out of his line of argument. "You can cook, +eh? Got an idea of it? I always said you were a useful little woman. +Do have a biscuit and some wine:--No? well, where was I?--That +confounded boy. Brainty-top, top! that's it Braintop. Was I talking of +him, my dear? Oh no! about your getting married. For if you can cook, +why not? Get a husband and then you won't got to Italy. You ought to +get one. Some young fellows don't look for money." + +"I shall make money come, in time," said Emilia; in the leaping ardour of +whose eyes might be seen that what she had journeyed to speak was hot +within her. "I know I shall be worth having. I shall win a name, I +think--I do hope it!" + +"Well, so Pericles says. He's got a great notion of you. Perhaps he +means it himself. He's rich. Rash, I admit. But, as the chances go, +he's tremendously rich. He may mean it." + +"What?" asked Emilia. + +"Marry you, you know." + +"Ah, what a torture!" + +In that heat of her feelings she realized the horror of the words to her, +with an intensity that made them seem to quiver like an arrow in her +breast. + +"You don't like him?" said Mr. Pole. + +"Not love him! not love him!" + +"Yes, yes, but that comes after marriage. Often the case. Look here: +don't you go against your interests. You mustn't be flighty. If +Pericles speaks to you, have him. Clap your hands. Dozens of girls +would, that I know." + +"But, oh!" interposed Emilia; "if he married me he would kiss me!" + +Mr. Pole coughed and blinked. "Well!" he remarked, as one gravely +cogitating; and with the native delicacy of a Briton turned it off in a +playful, "So shall I now," adding, "though I ain't your husband." + +He stooped his head. Emilia put her hands on his shoulders, and +submitted her face to him. + +"There!" went Mr. Pole: "'pon my honour, it does me good:--better than +medicine! But you mustn't give that dose to everybody, my dear. You +don't, of course. All right, all right--I'm quite satisfied. I was only +thinking of you going to Italy, among those foreign rascals, who've no +more respect for a girl than they have for a monkey--their brother. A +set of swindlers! I took you for the wife of one when you came in, at +first. And now, business is business. Let's get it over. What have you +come about? Glad to see you--understand that." + +Emilia lifted her eyes to his. + +"You know I love you, sir." + +"I'm sure you're a grateful little woman." + +She rose: "Oh! how can I speak it!" + +An idea that his daughters had possibly sent her to herald one of the +renowned physicians of London, concerning whom he was perpetually being +plagued by them, or to lead him to one, flashed through Mr. Pole. He was +not in a state to weigh the absolute value of such a suspicion, but it +seemed probable; it explained an extraordinary proceeding; and, having +conceived, his wrath took it up as a fact, and fought with it. + +"Stop! If that's what you've come for, we'll bring matters to a crisis. +You fancy me ill, don't you, my dear?" + +"You do not look well, sir." + +Emilia's unhesitating reply confirmed his suspicion. + +"I am well. I am, I say! And now, understand that, if that's your +business, I won't go to the fellow, and I won't see him here. They'll +make me out mad, next. He shall never have a guinea from me while I +live. No, nor when I die. Not a farthing! Sit down, my dear, and wait +for the biscuits. I wish to heaven they'd come. There's brandy coming, +too. Where's Braintop?" + +He took out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, and jerked it like a +bell-rope. + +Emilia, in a singular bewilderment, sat eyeing a beam of sombre city +sunlight on the dusty carpet. She could only suppose that the offending +"he" was Wilfrid; but, why he should be so, she could not guess: and how +to plead for him, divided her mind. + +"Don't blame him; be angry with me, if you are angry," she began softly. +"I know he thinks of you anxiously. I know he would do nothing to hurt +you. No one is so kind as he is. Would you deprive him of money, +because he offends you?" + +"Deprive him of money," repeated Mr. Pole, with ungrudging accentuation. +"Well, I've heard about women, but I never knew one so anxious for a +doctor to get his fee as you are." + +Emilia wonderingly fixed her sight on him an instant, and, quite +unillumined, resumed: "Blame me, sir. But, I know you will be too kind. +Oh! I love him. So, I must love you, and I would not give you pain. It +is true he loves me. You will not see him, because he loves me?" + +"The doctor?" muttered Mr. Pole. "The doctor?" he almost bellowed; and +got sharp up from his chair, and looked at himself in the glass, blinking +rapidly; and then turned to inspect Emilia. + +Emilia drew him to her side again. + +"Go on," he said; and there became visible in his face a frightful effort +to comprehend her, and get to the sense of her words. + +And why it was so frightful as to be tragic, you will know presently. + +He thought of the arrival of Braintop, freighted with brandy, as the only +light in the mist, and breathing heavily from his nose, almost snorting +the air he took in from a widened mouth, he sat and tried to listen to +her words as well as for Braintop's feet. + +Emilia was growing too conscious of her halting eloquence, as the +imminence of her happiness or misery hung balancing in doubtful scales +before her. + +"Oh! he loves me, and I love him," she gasped, and wondered why words +should be failing her. "See us together, sir, and hear us. We will make +you well." + +The exclamation "Good Lord!" groaned out in a tone as from the lower pits +of despair, cut her short. + +Tearfully she murmured: "You will not see us, sir?" + +"Together?" bawled the merchant. + +"Yes, I mean together." + +"If you're not mad, I am." And he jumped on his legs and walked to the +farther corner of the room. "Which of us is it?" His features twitched +in horribly comic fashion. "What do you mean? I can't understand a +word. My brain must have gone;" throwing his hand over his forehead. +"I've feared so for the last four months. Good God! a lunatic asylum! +and the business torn like a piece of old rag! I know that fellow at +Riga's dancing like a cannibal, and there--there 'll be articles in the +papers.--Here, girl! come up to the light. Come here, I say." + +Emilia walked up to him. + +"You don't look mad. I dare say everybody else understands you. Do +they?" + +The sad-flushed pallor of his face provoked Emilia to say: "You ought to +have the doctor here immediately. Let me bring him, sir." + +A gleam as of a lantern through his oppressive mental fog calmed the +awful irritability of his nerves somewhat. + +"You've got him outside?" + +"No, sir." + +The merchant's eagerness faded out. He put his hand to her shoulder, and +went along to a chair, sinking into it, and closing his eyelids. So they +remained, Emilia at his right hand. She watched him breathing with a +weak open mouth, and thought more of the doctor now than of Wilfrid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +Braintop's knock at the door had been unheeded for some minutes. At last +Emilia let him in. The brandy and biscuits were placed on a table, and +Emilia resumed her watch by Mr. Pole. She saw that his lips moved, after +a space, and putting her ear down, understood that he desired not to see +any one who might come for an interview with him: nor were the clerks to +be admitted. The latter direction was given in precise terms. Emilia +repeated the orders outside. On her return, the merchant's eyes were +open. + +"My forehead feels damp," he said; "and I'm not hot at all. Just take +hold of my hands. They're like wet crumpets. I wonder what makes me so +stiff. A man mustn't sit at business too long at a time. Sure to make +people think he's ill. What was that about a doctor? I seem to +remember. I won't see one." + +Emilia had filled a glass with brandy. She brought it nearer to his +hand, while he was speaking. At the touch of the glass, his fingers went +round it slowly, and he raised it to his mouth. The liquor revived him. +He breathed "ah!" several times, and grimaced, blinking, as if seeking to +arouse a proper brightness in his eyes. Then, he held out his empty +glass to her, and she filled it, and he sipped deliberately, saying: "I'm +warm inside. I keep on perspiring so cold. Can't make it out. Look at +my finger-ends, my dear. They're whitish, aren't they?" + +Emilia took the hand he presented, and chafed it, and put it against her +bosom, half under one arm. The action appeared to give some warmth to +his heart, for he petted her, in return. + +A third time he held out the glass, and remarked that this stuff was +better than medicine. + +"You women!" he sneered, as at a reminiscence of their faith in drugs. + +"My legs are weak, though!" He had risen and tested the fact. "Very +shaky. I wonder what makes 'em--I don't take much exercise." Pondering +on this problem, he pursued: "It's the stomach. I'm as empty as an egg- +shell. Odd, I've got no appetite. But, my spirits are up. I begin to +feel myself again. I'll eat by-and-by, my dear. And, I say; I'll tell +you what:--I'll take you to the theatre to-night. I want to laugh. A +man's all right when he's laughing. I wish it was Christmas. Don't you +like to see the old pantaloon tumbled over, my boy?--my girl, I mean. I +did, when I was a boy. My father took me. I went in the pit. I can +smell oranges, when I think of it. I remember, we supped on German +sausage; or ham--one or the other. Those were happy old days!" + +He shook his head at them across the misty gulf. + +"Perhaps there's a good farce going on now. If so, we'll go. Girls +ought to learn to laugh as well as boys. I'll ring for Braintop." + +He rang the bell, and bade Emilia be careful to remind him that he wanted +Braintop's address; for Braintop was useful. + +It appeared that there were farces at several of the theatres. Braintop +rattled them out, their plot and fun and the merits of the actors, with +delightful volubility, as one whose happy subject had been finally +discovered. He was forthwith commissioned to start immediately and take +a stage-box at one of the places of entertainment, where two great rivals +of the Doctor genus promised to laugh dull care out of the spirit of man +triumphantly, and at the description of whose drolleries any one with +faith might be half cured. The youth gave his address on paper to +Emilia. + +"Make haste, sir," said Mr. Pole. "And, stop. You shall go, yourself; +go to the pit, and have a supper, and I'll pay for it. When you've +ordered the box--do you know the Bedford Hotel? Go there, and see Mrs. +Chickley, and tell her I am coming to dine and sleep, and shall bring one +of my daughters. Dinner, sittingroom, and two bed-rooms, mind. And tell +Mrs. Chickley we've got no carpet-bag, and must come upon her wardrobe. +All clear to you? Dinner at half-past five going to theatre." + +Braintop bowed comprehendingly. + +"Now, that fellow goes off chirping," said Mr. Pole to Emilia. "It's +just the thing I used to wish to happen to me, when I was his age--my +master to call me in and say "There! go and be jolly." I dare say the +rascal'll order a champagne supper. Poor young chap! let his heart be +merry. Ha! ha! heigho!--Too much business is bad for man and boy. I +feel better already, if it weren't for my legs. My feet are so cold. +Don't you think I'm pretty talkative, my dear?" + +"I am glad to hear you talk," said Emilia, striving to look less +perplexed than she felt. + +He asked her slyly why she had come to London; and she begged that she +might speak of it by-and-by; whereat Mr. Pole declared that he intended +to laugh them all out of that nonsense. "And what did you say about +being in love with him? A doctor in good practice--but you needn't +commence by killing me if you do go and marry the fellow. Eh? what is +it?" + +Emilia was too much entangled herself to attempt to extricate him; and +apparently his wish to be enlightened passed away, for he was the next +instant searching among his papers for the letter from Riga. Not finding +it, he put on his hat. + +"Must give up business to-day. Can't do business with a petticoat in the +room. I wish the Lord Mayor'd stop them all at Temple Bar. Now we'll go +out, and I'll show you a bit of the City." + +He offered her his arm, and she noticed that in walking through the +office, he was erect, and the few words he spoke were delivered in the +peremptory elastic tone of a vigorous man. + +"My girls," he said to her in an undertone, "never come here. Well! we +don't expect ladies, you know. Different spheres in this world. They +mean to be tip-top in society; and quite right too. My dear, I think +we'll ride. Do you mind being seen in a cab?" + +He asked her hesitatingly: and when Emilia said, "Oh, no! let us ride," +he seemed relieved. "I can't see the harm in a cab. Different tastes, +in this world. My girls--but, thank the Lord! they've got carriages." + +For an hour the merchant and Emilia drove about the City. He showed her +all the great buildings, and dilated on the fabulous piles of wealth they +represented, taking evident pleasure in her exclamations of astonishment. + +"Yes, yes; they may despise us City fellows. I say, 'Come and see": +that's all! Now, look up that court. Do you see three dusty windows on +the second floor? That man there could buy up any ten princes in Europe +--excepting one or two Austrians or Russians. He wears a coat just like +mine." + +"Does he?" said Emilia, involuntarily examining the one by her side. + +"We don't show our gold-linings, in the City, my dear." + +"But, you are rich, too." + +"Oh! I--as far as that goes. Don't talk about me. I'm--I'm still cold +in the feet. Now, look at that corner house. Three months ago that man +was one of our most respected City merchants. Now he's a bankrupt, and +can't show his head. It was all rotten. A medlar! He tampered with +documents; betrayed trusts. What do you think of him?" + +"What was it he did?" asked Emilia. + +Mr. Pole explained, and excused him; then he explained, and abused him. + +"He hadn't a family, my dear. Where did the money go? He's called a +rascal now, poor devil! Business brings awful temptations. You think, +this'll save me! You catch hold of it and it snaps. That'll save me; +but you're too heavy, and the roots give way, and down you go lower and +lower. Lower and lower! The gates of hell must be very low down if one +of our bankrupts don't reach 'em." He spoke this in a deep underbreath. +"Let's get out of the City. There's no air. Look at that cloud. It's +about over Brookfield, I should say." + +"Dear Brookfield!" echoed Emilia, feeling her heart fly forth to sing +like a skylark under the cloud. + +"And they're not satisfied with it," murmured Mr: Pole, with a voice of +unwonted bitterness. + +At the hotel, he was received very cordially by Mrs. Chickley, and Simon, +the old waiter. + +"You look as young as ever, ma'am," Mr. Pole complimented her cheerfully, +while he stamped his feet on the floor, and put forward Emilia as one of +his girls; but immediately took the landlady aside, to tell her that she +was "merely a charge--a ward--something of that sort;" admitting, gladly +enough, that she was a very nice young lady. "She's a genius, ma'am, in +music:--going to do wonders. She's not one of them." And Mr. Pole +informed Mrs. Chickley that when they came to town, they usually slept in +one or other of the great squares. He, for his part, preferred old +quarters: comfort versus grandeur. + +Simon had soon dressed the dinner-table. By the time dinner was ready, +Mr. Pole had sunk into such a condition of drowsiness, that it was hard +to make him see why he should be aroused, and when he sat down, fronting +Emilia, his eyes were glazed, and he complained that she was scarcely +visible. + +"Some of your old yellow seal, Simon. That's what I want. I haven't got +better at home." + +The contents of this old yellow seal formed the chief part of the +merchant's meal. Emilia was induced to drink two full glasses. + +"Doesn't that make your feet warm, my dear?" said Mr. Pole. + +"It makes me want to talk," Emilia confessed. + +"Ah! we shall have some fun to-night. "To-the-rutte-ta-to!" If you +could only sing, "Begone dull care!" I like glees: good, honest, +English, manly singing for me! Nothing like glees and madrigals, to my +mind. With chops and baked potatoes, and a glass of good stout, they +beat all other music." + +Emilia sang softly to him. + +When she had finished, Mr. Pole applauded her mildly. + +"Your music, my dear?" + +"My music: Mr. Runningbrook's words. But only look. He will not change +a word, and some of the words are so curious, they make me lift my chin +and pout. It's all in my throat. I feel as if I had to do it on tiptoe. +Mr. Runningbrook wrote the song in ten minutes." + +"He can afford to--comes of a family," said Mr. Pole, and struck up a bit +of "Celia's Arbour," which wandered into "The Soldier Tired," as he came +bendingly, both sets of fingers filliping, toward Emilia, with one of +those ancient glee--suspensions, "Taia--haia--haia--haia," etc., which +were meant for jolly fellows who could bear anything. + +"Eh?" went Mr. Pole, to elicit approbation in return. + +Emilia smoothed the wrinkles of her face, and smiled. + +"There's nothing like Port," said Mr. Pole. "Get little Runningbrook to +write a song: "There's nothing like Port." You put the music. I'll sing +it." + +"You will," cried Emilia. + +"Yes, upon my honour! now my feet are warmer, I by Jingo! what's that?" +and again he wore that strange calculating look, as if he were being +internally sounded, and guessed at his probable depth. "What a twitch! +Something wrong with my stomach. But a fellow must be all right when his +spirits are up. We'll be off as quick as we can. Taia--haihaia--hum. +If the farce is bad, it's my last night of theatre-going." + +The delight at being in a theatre kept Emilia dumb when she gazed on the +glittering lights. After an inspection of the house, Mr. Pole kindly +remarked: "You must marry and get out of this. This'd never do. All +very well in the boxes: but on the stage--oh, no! I shouldn't like you +to be there. If my girls don't approve of the doctor, they shall look +out somebody for you. I shouldn't like you to be painted, and rigged +out; and have to squall in this sort of place. Stage won't do for you. +No, no!" + +Emilia replied that she had given up the stage; and looked mournfully at +the drop-scene, as at a lost kingdom, scarcely repressing her tears. + +The orchestra tuned and played a light overture. She followed up the +windings of the drop-scene valley, meeting her lover somewhere beneath +the castle-ruin, where the river narrowed and the trees intertwined. On +from dream to dream the music carried her, and dull fell the first words +of the farce. Mr. Pole said, "Now, then!" and began to chuckle. As the +farce proceeded, he grew more serious, repeating to Emilia, quite +anxiously: "I wonder whether that boy Braintop's enjoying it." Emilia +glanced among the sea of heads, and finally eliminated the head of +Braintop, who was respectfully devoting his gaze to the box she occupied. +When Mr. Pole had been assisted to discover him likewise, his attention +alternated between Braintop and the stage, and he expressed annoyance +from time to time at the extreme composure of Braintop's countenance. +"Why don't the fellow laugh? Does he think he's listening to a sermon?" +Poor Braintop, on his part, sat in mortal fear lest his admiration of +Emilia was perceived. Divided? between this alarming suspicion, and a +doubt that the hair on his forehead was not properly regulated, he became +uneasy and fitful in his deportment. His imagination plagued him with a +sense of guilt, which his master's watchfulness of him increased. +He took an opportunity to furtively to eye himself in a pocket-mirror, +and was subsequently haunted by an additional dread that Emilia might +have discovered the instrument; and set him down as a vain foolish dog. +When he saw her laugh he was sure of it. Instead of responding to +Mr. Pole's encouragement, he assumed a taciturn aspect worthy of a +youthful anchorite, and continued to be the spectator of a scene to +which his soul was dead. + +"I believe that fellow's thinking of nothing but his supper," said Mr. +Pole. + +"I dare say he dined early in the day," returned Emilia, remembering how +hungry she used to be in the evenings of the potatoe-days. + +"Yes, but he might laugh, all the same." And Mr. Pole gave Emilia the +sound advice: "Mind you never marry a fellow who can't laugh." + +Braintop saw Emilia smile. Then, in an instant, her face changed its +expression to one of wonder and alarm, and her hands clasped together +tightly. What on earth was the matter with her? His agitated fancy, +centred in himself, now decided that some manifestation of most shocking +absurdity had settled on his forehead, or his hair, for he was certain of +his neck-tie. Braintop had recourse to his pocket-mirror once more. It +afforded him a rapid interchange of glances with a face which he at all +events could distinguish from the mass, though we need not. + +The youth was in the act of conveying the instrument to its retreat, when +conscience sent his eyes toward Emilia, who, to his horror, beckoned to +him, and touched Mr. Pole, entreating him to do the same. Mr. Pole +gesticulated imperiously, whereat Braintop rose, and requested his +neighbour to keep his seat for ten minutes, as he was going into that +particular box; and "If I don't come back in ten minutes, I shall stop +there," said Braintop, a little grandly, through the confusion of his +ideas, as he guessed at the possible reasons for the summons. + +Emilia had seen her father in the orchestra. There he sat, under the +leader, sullenly fiddling the prelude to the second play, like a man +ashamed, and one of the beaten in this world. Flight had been her first +thought. She had cause to dread him. The more she lived and the dawning +knowledge of what it is to be a woman in the world grew with her, the +more she shrank from his guidance, and from reliance on him. Not that +she conceived him designedly base; but he outraged her now conscious +delicacy, and what she had to endure as a girl seemed unbearable to her +now. Besides, she felt a secret shuddering at nameless things, which +made her sick of the thought of returning to him and his Jew friends. +But, alas! he looked so miserable--a child of harmony among the sons of +discord! He kept his head down, fiddling like a machine. The old +potatoe-days became pathetically edged with dead light to Emilia. She +could not be cruel. "When I am safe," she laid stress on the word in her +mind, to awaken blessed images, "I will see him often, and make him +happy; but I will let him know that all is well with me now, and that I +love him always." + +So she said to Mr. Pole, "I know one of those in the orchestra. May I +write a word to him on a piece of paper before we go? I wish to." + +Mr. Pole reflected, and seeing her earnest in her desire to do this, +replied: "Well, yes; if you must--the girls are not here." + +Emilia borrowed his pencil-case, and wrote:-- + +"Sandra is well, and always loves her caro papa, and is improving, and +will see him soon. Her heart is full of love for him and for her mama; +and if they leave their lodgings they are to leave word where they go. +Sandra never forgets Italy, and reads the papers. She has a copy of the +score of an unknown opera by our Andronizetti, and studies it, and +anatomy, English, French, and pure Italian, and can ride a horse. She +has made rich friends, who love her. It will not be long, and you will +see her." + +The hasty scrawl concluded with numerous little caressing exclamations in +Italian diminutives. This done, Emilia thought: "But he will look up and +see me!" She resolved not to send it till they were about to quit the +theatre. Consequently, Braintop, on his arrival, was told to sit down. +"You don't look cheerful in the pit," said Mr. Pole. "You're above it?-- +eh? You're all alike in that. None of you do what your dads did. Up- +up-up? You may get too high, eh?--Gallery?" and Mr. Pole winked +knowingly and laughed. + +Braintop, thus elevated, tried his best to talk to Emilia, who sat half +fascinated with the fear of seeing her father lift his eyes and recognize +her suddenly. She sat boldly in the front, as before; not being a young +woman to hide her head where there was danger, and having perhaps a +certain amount of the fatalism which is often youth's philosophy in the +affairs of life. "If this is to be, can I avert it?" + +Mr. Pole began to nod at the actors, heavily. He said to Emilia, "If +there is any fun going on, give me a nudge." Emilia kept her eyes on her +father in the orchestra, full of pity for his deplorable wig, in which +she read his later domestic history, and sad tales of the family dinners. + +"Do you see one of those"--she pointed him out to Braintop; "he is next +to the leader, with his back to us. Are you sure? I want you to give +him this note before he goes; when we go. Will you do it? I shall +always be thankful to you." + +Considering what Braintop was ready to do that he might be remembered for +a day and no more, the request was so very moderate as to be painful to +him. + +"You will leave him when you have given it into his hand. You are not to +answer any questions," said Emilia. + +With a reassuring glance at the musician's wig, Braintop bent his head. + +"Do see," she pursued, "how differently he bows from the other men, +though it is only dance music. Oh, how his ears are torn by that +violoncello! He wants to shriek:--he bears it!" + +She threw a piteous glance across the agitated instruments, and Braintop +was led to inquire: "Is he anything particular?" + +"He can bring out notes that are more like honey--if you can fancy a +thread of honey drawn through your heart as if it would never end! He is +Italian." + +Braintop modestly surveyed her hair and brows and cheeks, and taking the +print of her eyes on his brain to dream over, smelt at a relationship +with the wry black wig, which cast a halo about it. + +The musicians laid down their instruments, and trooped out, one by one. +Emilia perceived a man brush against her father's elbow. Her father +flicked at his offended elbow with the opposite hand, and sat crumpled up +till all had passed him: then went out alone. That little action of +disgust showed her that he had not lost spirit, albeit condemned to serve +amongst an inferior race, promoters of discord. + +Just as the third play was opening, some commotion was seen in the pit, +rising from near Braintop's vacated seat; and presently a thing that +shone flashing to the lights, came on from hand to hand, each hand +signalling subsequently toward Mr. Pole's box. It approached. +Braintop's eyes were in waiting on Emilia, who looked sadly at the empty +orchestra. A gentleman in the stalls, a head beneath her, bowed, and +holding up a singular article, gravely said that he had been requested to +pass it. She touched Mr. Pole's shoulder. "Eh? anything funny?" said +he, and glanced around. He was in time to see Braintop lean hurriedly +over the box, and snatch his pocket-mirror from the gentleman's hand. +"Ha! ha!" he laughed, as if a comic gleam had illumined him. A portion +of the pit and stalls laughed too. Emilia smiled merrily. "What was +it?" said she; and perceiving many faces beneath her red among +handkerchiefs, she was eager to see the thing that the unhappy Braintop +had speedily secreted. + +"Come, sir, let's see it!" quoth Mr. Pole, itching for a fresh laugh; and +in spite of Braintop's protest, and in defiance of his burning blush, he +compelled the wretched youth to draw it forth, and be manifestly +convicted of vanity. + +A shout of laughter burst from Mr. Pole. "No wonder these young sparks +cut us all out. Lord, what cunning dogs they are! They ain't satisfied +with seeing themselves in their boots, but they--ha! ha! By George! +We've got the best fun in our box. I say, Braintop! you ought to have +two, my boy. Then you'd see how you looked behind. Ha-ha-hah! Never +enjoyed an evening so much in my life! A looking-glass for their +pockets! ha! ha!--hooh!" + +Luckily the farce demanded laughter, or those parts of the pit which had +not known Braintop would have been indignant. Mr. Pole became more and +more possessed by the fun, as the contrast of Braintop's abject +humiliation with this glaring testimony to his conceit tickled him. He +laughed till he complained of hunger. Emilia, though she thought it +natural that Braintop should carry a pocket-mirror if he pleased, laughed +from sympathy; until Braintop, reduced to the verge of forbearance, stood +up and remarked that, to perform the mission entrusted to him, he must +depart immediately. Mr. Pole was loth to let him go, but finally +commending him to a good supper, he sighed, and declared himself a new +man. + +"Oh! what a jolly laugh! The very thing I wanted! It's worth hundreds +to me. I was queer before: no doubt about that!" + +Again the ebbing convulsion of laughter seized him. "I feel as clear as +day," he said; and immediately asked Emilia whether she thought he would +have strength to get down to the cab. She took his hand, trying to +assist him from the seat. He rose, and staggered an instant. "A sort of +reddish cloud," he murmured, feeling over his forehead. "Ha! I know what +it is. I want a chop. A chop and a song. But, I couldn't take you, and +I like you by me. Good little woman!" He patted Emilia's shoulder, +preparatory to leaning on it with considerable weight, and so descended +to the cab, chuckling ever and anon at the reminiscence of Braintop. + +There was a disturbance in the street. A man with a foreign accent was +shouting by the door of a neighbouring public-house, that he would not +yield his hold of the collar of a struggling gentleman, till the villain +had surrendered his child, whom he scandalously concealed from her +parents. A scuffle ensued, and the foreign voice was heard again: + +"Wat! wat you have de shame, you have de pluck, ah! to tell me you know +not where she is, and you bring me a letter? Ho!--you have de cheeks to +tell me!" + +This highly effective pluralizing of their peculiar slang, brought a roar +of applause from the crowd of Britons. + +"Only a street row," said Mr. Pole, to calm Emilia. + +"Will he be hurt?" she cried. + +"I see a couple of policemen handy," said Mr. Pole, and Emilia cowered +down and clung to his hand as they drove from the place. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +And, ladies, if you will consent to be likened to a fruit +Passion does not inspire dark appetite--Dainty innocence does +The sentimentalists are represented by them among the civilized +The woman follows the man, and music fits to verse, +You have not to be told that I desire your happiness above all +Wilfrid perceived that he had become an old man + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Sandra Belloni, v3 +by George Meredith + diff --git a/4415.zip b/4415.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b393e82 --- /dev/null +++ b/4415.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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